


Terrible

by Mystical_Knight_Dragon



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Come Swallowing, Crush at First Sight, Deepthroating, Dick Pics, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, POV First Person, Phone Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Semi-public masturbation, Sex Toys, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Wordcount: Over 100.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-09-18 18:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 106,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20317624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystical_Knight_Dragon/pseuds/Mystical_Knight_Dragon
Summary: I’m a terrible person.Not terrible like dictator-committing-genocide kind of terrible, but terrible nonetheless.On that fateful September afternoon, I went to Brayden’s dad’s house after school. I had played soccer with Brayden since our sophomore year, and his mom had been to a few of our games, but his dad seemed out of the picture. Turns out the divorce was very messy, so his parents tried to stay as far away from each other as possible. Brayden had been to my house a few times, and I’ve been to his mom’s house, but again, I thought his dad was out of the picture.So when Brayden invited me over to play the new FIFA game, I was surprised when the bus dropped us off at a different location than normal. Brayden didn’t seem fazed. I guess he thought I had met his dad before.But I know I hadn’t. I would have remembered him.Which brings me back to why I’m a terrible person.Who else but a terrible person would have an instant, major crush on their friend’s dad?---Updates every other Monday!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a short PWP that slowly morphed into a multi-chapter extravaganza. This story was originally written as a series of journal entries, but as I built the main character, I realized he would not be the kind of person to sit down and sort his thoughts into a journal. I rewrote it, and I’m much happier with the result. Please enjoy!
> 
> Please note: The main character begins the story at 16 years old. He has sexual encounters with other boys his age but he does NOT have any encounters that would be considered statutory rape.

I’m a terrible person.

Not terrible like dictator-committing-genocide kind of terrible, but terrible nonetheless.

On that fateful September afternoon, I went to Brayden’s dad’s house after school. I had played soccer with Brayden since our sophomore year, and his mom had been to a few of our games, but his dad seemed out of the picture. Turns out the divorce was very messy, so his parents tried to stay as far away from each other as possible. Brayden had been to my house a few times, and I’ve been to his mom’s house, but again, I thought his dad was out of the picture.

So when Brayden invited me over to play the new FIFA game, I was surprised when the bus dropped us off at a different location than normal. Brayden didn’t seem fazed. I guess he thought I had met his dad before.

But I know I hadn’t. I would have remembered him.

Brayden’s dad greeted us by the front door and shook my hand, introducing himself as Mr. Hartman “but please call me Grayson.” I don’t know why adults do that. Kids in the south are physically incapable of calling adults by anything other than “sir” or “ma’am.” He smiled and made small talk, asking about soccer and school, before offering us snacks and drinks. After getting us settled, he disappeared upstairs.

Throughout the introduction, my brain was having trouble keeping everything connected, and I was in danger of short-circuiting altogether. If I could create my ideal man, like those kids in _Weird Science_, he wouldn’t begin to compare to Mr. Hartman. Something about a man with dark hair, a square jaw, and blue eyes left me absolutely weak in the knees. Not only that, but he had the height and muscles to make any Greek statue jealous. And that smile…when he turned it towards me, I nearly melted in its brightness.

Normally, I wouldn’t consider myself shallow. I tell myself that when I finally get to date someone, I’ll care more about their personality than their looks. But I’m also a sixteen-going-on-seventeen male. So, yeah. The boner wants what the boner wants.

Which brings me back to why I’m a terrible person.

Who else but a terrible person would have an instant, major crush on their friend’s dad?

After his dad left us alone, Brayden turned on the video game console in the family room. At his mom’s place, he had an entire entertainment center set up in his room. When I asked him why we were playing downstairs in the main area, he just shrugged. It was then that I noticed how compact this house was in comparison to his mom’s place, and even my own home. The worn couch and TV nearly filled the entire living area. I wondered at the disparity between his parents’ homes, but quickly dismissed it. It was none of my business.

As we played games, my thoughts began to stray towards Mr. Hartman. Why was he upstairs? Why couldn’t he be downstairs so I could look at him some more? I thought about his handshake and how firm that grip was, how good his hands would feel on my body, and how good his body would feel under my hands. As I said, I’m a horny teenage male. Usually I’m able to clear my head with a shake and get away from such dangerous territory, but then I heard the shower running.

All I could think about was how Mr. Hartman was completely and totally naked, soap and hot water running down his body, his hands massaging shampoo into his hair—

Brayden hit pause on the game, and I froze in terror. He knew. He _knew_.

He stood and stretched, then said, “I’m getting a drink. Want anything?”

I can’t even recall how I responded, but he left the room, leaving me alone to my terrible thoughts. Funny how imagining someone getting clean can be described as “filthy.”

I shut my eyes tight, but that only made the mental images clearer. I felt myself flush with heat and knew an instant of panic. Thank goodness Brayden had left the room. I took the opportunity to reposition myself on the couch. Moms always seem to have these little decorative pillows lying about that I’ve shamelessly used to hide my junk on more than one occasion, but Mr. Hartman didn’t have anything like that.

By the time Brayden returned with two glasses of water, I had what I hoped was a convincing enough expression on his face. It must have worked, because he immediately restarted the game and never said, “That sure is a mighty big erection you have in your pants. Thinking about anyone in particular?”

I had managed to calm myself down enough that I wouldn’t embarrass myself Mr. Hartman walked downstairs. I tried my best to keep my eyes on the TV screen, knowing I’d betray myself, but I’ve never had the best self-control. Mr. Hartman was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his hand resting on the railing, wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a green shirt slung over his shoulder. My heart started pounding in my chest. He ran his fingers through his wet hair causing rivulets of water to run from his hair down his neck and chest. I watched them closely, my breath catching in my throat.

Mr. Hartman was tugging the shirt over his head as he asked us, “Hot dogs for dinner sound okay?”

“Sure, Dad,” Brayden mumbled, his character onscreen scoring a point during my attention lapse.

Not trusting myself to utter a sound, I nodded, then forced my attention back to the game.

I dreaded the upcoming meal. A knot began to form in the pit of my stomach. There was no way I’d be able to sit at a table, just the three of us, making uncomfortable small talk, all the while trying not to stare and say things like, “Please take your shirt back off so I can imagine myself running my hands down your perfect chest.”

The worry wasn’t necessary, however. Mr. Hartman came into the living room with a bag of buns, some paper plates, and a handful of ketchup packets. On his second trip back out, he held a small sheet pan with the hot dogs on it. He looked almost embarrassed as he made space on the coffee table for our dinner.

“Sorry about the informality,” he muttered. “I haven’t had a chance to buy real dishes yet.”

I finally found my voice. “It’s fine,” I said. “I love hot dogs.”

I love hot dogs? Smooth, Alex. Smooth.

Mr. Hartman nodded and thankfully didn’t comment on my choice of words. In all actuality, I really didn’t care one way or the other if we ate from paper plates or from expensive China. In fact, I’d rather eat from something I wasn’t worried I was going to break.

Mr. Hartman didn’t stay to eat with us. He went back into the kitchen, and I could hear he was on the phone with someone. As I was scarfing down my food (I really do love hot dogs), I noticed Braden wasn’t eating. He glanced toward the kitchen, then said quietly, “It’s not just the plates. There are a lot of things he hasn’t bought since the divorce. There’s no kitchen table, the cups don’t match, and I have to bring my own sheets from Mom’s when I stay over. Mom says he took the divorce too hard, but I don’t think he really feels like this place is his new home.”

I shrugged. “Or he just doesn’t think those kinds of things are important. If I lived on my own, I doubt I would buy matching plates and cups. Paper and plastic are fine.”

Brayden shot me a look that clearly said, “Why are you defending my dad?” Neither of us had a chance to finish the conversation because my phone started ringing. My mom was calling to say she was in the driveway and it was time to come home. I gathered my things, thanked Mr. Hartman for having me over, told Brayden I’d text him, and practically ran to my mom’s car.

That night, I dreamed about Mr. Hartman. In the dream, he was sitting on the couch completely naked, legs spread open so I could see everything in all its glory. And he was _massive_.

This may have been caused by the porn I was watching right before bed.

In the dream, I end up on top of Mr. Hartman, and we start kissing. If we’re being honest, I’ve only kissed two people before, and both kisses were pretty tame. My first _real _kiss was at the end of seventh grade. I had a huge crush on Zachary Richardson, but I don’t think he felt anywhere close to the same towards me. However, Zachary was moving to Colorado, so since I knew I’d never see him again, I bribed him into kissing me.

I sold my first kiss for a Mountain Dew and a pack of Starbursts.

My second kiss was about midway through ninth grade. Melissa Lyons begged me to ask her to the Homecoming dance with her, so I did. At that time in my life, I was so worried about people finding out that I was gay that I did everything I could to give them evidence to the contrary, including going to a school dance with a girl. Melissa was a sweet girl, but she just wasn’t my type.

At the end of the dance, my dad came to pick us up, and he drove us to her house. Every romance movie I’ve ever seen has had the boy kiss the girl at the end of the dance, so that’s what I did. I leaned across the back seat of my dad’s minivan and kissed Melissa Lyons right on the lips. She kissed back, so of course, being in ninth grade, I took that as our vows of marriage.

The next day, I find out that she started dating Roy McKearn, a junior on the football team. I felt used, but also relieved. I didn’t know how to tell her that when I kissed her, I felt absolutely nothing.

Later that week, Melissa pulled me aside in the hallway and apologized. I could tell that she had practiced her little speech—“He just walked up to me and asked if I’d go out with him, and what else was I going to say”—and the petty part of me wanted to tell her that I could never forgive what she did to me, but I ended up cutting her off and telling her not to worry, that I didn’t blame her.

And I didn’t, I really didn’t. If Roy McKearn walked up to me right this moment and said, “Alex, will you be my boyfriend?” I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d go out that day to the jewelers, buy a ring, and lock that shit down. (I say that because Roy McKearn has cheated on his past four girlfriends. But at that point, I don’t think an engagement ring would solve anything.)

Back to my dream. To summarize, I don’t know shit about kissing, but Mr. Hartman and I are there on the couch making out. Then I started gently grinding against him. Again, if we’re being honest here, if I don’t know shit about kissing, I know even less about sex. So whatever is going on in dreamland is probably way off base from the real thing.

Dream me starts touching Mr. Hartman all over. My hand drifts to my dick, and I start jerking off. I go back to kissing him and kiss along his jawline. He kept his beard closely shaven, so I imagine it would be kind of itchy.

When I woke up, I was rock hard. I kept trying to remember everything else that happened in the dream, but it slipped away from me pretty quickly.

So now I’m faced with a dilemma. If Brayden wants to hang out again, and if we go back to his dad’s house, I don’t trust my dick not to give my crush away. And I don’t think it’s polite to go over to a friend’s house just to stare at their dad. Which is all I would want to do.

* * *

Almost two months passed, and I still hadn’t been back to Brayden’s dad’s house. A few weeks after that fateful day, we went to his mom’s house. I tried to hide my disappointment, but it must have shown because he asked me if anything was wrong. I told him I was worried about my math grade, and I think he bought it. I was hoping time would fade my crush, but I can’t get the image of Mr. Hartman out of my head. It’s been like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

Maybe I just have a thing for older men.

When I was at Brayden’s mom’s house, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I’d rather be at his dad’s place. Brayden and I played a few video games, and then it was late enough that I had to decide if I wanted to stay the night or go home. Normally I’d opt to just stay over and keep playing games until dawn, then crash and sleep in until noon, but I decided to go home.

I had to.

My mind kept drifting to his dad, and it was wreaking havoc on certain parts of my body. I couldn’t concentrate, and my dick was pressing painfully against my jeans. When I got home, I locked myself in my room, grabbed my tablet, and went to town. By that point, I didn’t even need porn to get me going, but I still liked having it available.

I didn’t even last the entire video.

* * *

About midway through October, during soccer practice, Graham approached me. Graham’s a senior and has already been scouted by Wake Forest and Northwestern for soccer scholarships. He’s hands down the best player on our team. He was a little shorter than me and kept his head shaved close. We were well out of earshot of the others, but he beckoned me further away anyway. When we were almost off the field, he asked me, “Do you want to go see a movie with me this weekend?”

“Sure, which one?”

At the time, I didn’t realize Graham was implying that the movie would be a date. Between the two of us. I thought he was asking as a friend. I didn’t understand why he would have dragged me all the way out here to ask such an innocuous question. Sometimes I can be very dense.

“We’ll see whichever movie you want to see.”

“Who else is going?”

It was at this point that Graham realized that I didn’t understand his intentions. He tried his best to catch me up. “It would be just the two of us. On a date.”

I froze. I had never been asked on a date by a guy before. I didn’t know how to react. Part of me wondered if he had made a mistake, if he had meant to ask one of the other guys on the team but had accidentally asked me instead. I reevaluated the situation before me. Graham was incredibly attractive and playing soccer had kept him in great shape.

My brain finished catching up with the conversation, and I realized Graham was patiently waiting for a response. My mouth worked faster than my brain, and I stumbled over my words a few times before I could speak coherently. “Yes, I’ll—yes. That’s—yes. What time?”

Graham smirked, and for a second, I was worried he was about to tell me the whole thing was one sick joke. But then he said lightly, “You’re adorable. I’ll text you later this week, and we’ll figure it out.” Then he jogged back to practice.

I stood there for a few minutes, staring off into space. What was I supposed to do now? Were we boyfriends? Would he expect me to hold his hand at school? How soon could we kiss? More importantly, how soon could I suck his dick?

* * *

Twice a season, Brayden’s mother threw a party for the soccer team. It was a family event, where parents and siblings ate, clowned around, and kicked a ball around the backyard. My dad always grilled the hot dogs and burgers for everyone. Now that I knew he wasn’t a deadbeat, I recognized that Brayden’s dad was conspicuously absent. Several times that evening I found myself wishing he were there, just so I could look at him or get to know him better. Each time I had that terrible thought, I kicked myself. I had a date with Graham this weekend. I needed to stop living in fantasies and start living in this fantastic reality.

Around nine o’clock, people started trickling out and heading back home. My parents were staying and helping Mrs. Hartman clean up, so I tucked myself out of the way until it was time to go home. I was group texting with my teammates when I felt someone sit down next to me. When I looked up and saw Graham, I smiled and put my phone away.

“That was a pretty fun party,” said Graham.

I nodded. Though there was barely any space between us, I scooted closer. “So about our date this weekend—”

Graham’s lips covered mine. My eyes slid shut of their own volition, and my body practically melted into the couch. Kiss Number Three was shaping up to be incredible.

Suddenly, I was gripped by paranoia. Could Graham tell how inexperienced I was? I was abruptly hyper-aware of not knowing what to do with my hands or my lips. I tensed up, and Graham pulled back.

Resting his forehead against mine, he whispered, “Just relax,” then he started kissing me again.

This was now Kiss Number Four, and I was feeling much more adventurous after Graham’s pep talk. Tentatively, I rested my hand on his thigh. God, it was warm.

Slowly I became aware of a phone ringing in the distance. It took even longer for me to realize that it was _my_ phone ringing. Reluctantly, I pulled away from the kiss to check who was calling me. When I saw it was my dad—and that he had already called twice—I groaned in frustration and answered.

Dad was ready to head home and was wondering where I had snuck off to. I said I’d meet him out front in a couple minutes and hung up the phone.

I looked Graham in the eyes and said, very lamely, “I have to go.”

Graham smiled. “Then we’ll pick this back up this weekend.”

* * *

Friday, Graham drove us from school to the movie theater. I let my parents know I would be back late, that I was meeting a friend at the movies. I don’t know why I didn’t tell them I was going on a date; something just held me back.

Graham’s hair was starting to get long, as was the stubble along his jawline. He was wearing black jeans, a white shirt, and a gray jacket. Even dressed casually, Graham exuded confidence and maturity. On the other hand, I felt like a blundering dork. I had had no clue what to wear and had changed my mind almost a dozen times before finally settling on my Atlanta United FC jersey and blue jeans. The moment I saw Graham, however, and I saw a smile light up his face, I realized I could have showed up naked, and it wouldn’t have mattered.

Damn it, I should have shown up naked.

Graham slipped his hand into mine and gave me a light peck on the cheek. Hundreds of hot butterflies swarmed inside my stomach, and I couldn’t keep the dopey grin from my face. I paid for our tickets, and he paid for drinks and popcorn, then we went inside to find a seat.

Because it was opening weekend of a very popular movie, the theater was packed. After we sat down, the seats around us continued to fill up until there were no empty seats left. When I tried to sneak a kiss during the previews, the kid sitting next to me started giggling uncontrollably, which was quite the turn off. Grumbling, I settled back into my seat. I had waited this long for kisses; I could wait a little longer.

After the movie, we headed out into the parking lot. The crowd around us was chatting excitedly about how great the movie was, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember a single thing that happened. My thoughts were taken up by the warm hand in mine. After the lights dimmed, Graham had moved his hand to my upper thigh, and I lost complete track of time.

Next thing I knew, we were sitting in the back seat of his car, and his face was pressed into mine. His lips were soft, and our kiss tasted like popcorn. I realized I probably should have brought mints or gum, but when his hand went back to my upper thigh, my brain wiped itself clean. We continued kissing, and Graham’s hand slowly inched its way up my thigh until it reached my hip. By this point, my dick was rubbing uncomfortably against my pants, so I tried to shift my position. I inadvertently bucked my hips towards Graham, and he took this as a “go ahead.”

Nimble fingers popped my button, then drew my zipper down with ease. Half of my brain instantly panicked. Here we were in a crowded movie theater parking lot, and my date was quickly rounding the corner to second base.

Or do hand jobs count as third base?

The other half of my brain is controlled by my dick and was cheering in wild ecstasy.

I had to choose in that moment if I wanted to take this relationship slow or if I wanted to gallop ahead. _Was_ this a relationship? Technically we had never said anything. We had known each other for over two years, but he had only asked me on a date less than a week ago. And since then, we had done more making out than discussing our feelings for one another.

Dick Brain won out, and to be perfectly honest, it was no contest.

I shifted my hips again and slid my pants down under my ass. Graham rested his hand on the bulge in my underwear, causing me to twitch. Nothing in life had prepared me for the intense pleasure of someone else’s hand on my dick. I bucked into Graham’s hand, pushing myself closer to him. His left hand swept behind my neck and pulled my face closer to his, kissing me deeply. My jaw was beginning to get sore, but I didn’t dare say anything.

When his hand finally slipped under my underwear and onto my cock, I gasped. If I died at that moment, I would have had no regrets. Graham’s hand continued to move up and down, and I involuntarily moaned. He pulled back from the kiss and smiled. “I didn’t take you for a moaner, Alex,” he chuckled.

“Sorry,” I said, not really sure what else to say.

He leaned forward and gently took my earlobe between his teeth before kissing my neck. “Don’t be sorry. It’s cute.”

His hand hadn’t stopped stroking, and I was having trouble stringing my thoughts together. “I don’t want to be cute,” I responded. “Cute is for unicorns and rainbows. I want to be sexy, like a lumberjack or a sailor.”

Thankfully, Graham went back to kissing me so neither of us had to hear whatever other nonsense I would spout.

By myself, I can last a pretty long time, especially if I’m trying to pace myself. I can also make myself cum pretty quickly, if I know I’m on a time schedule. I tried to hold out as long as I could, but having never been jerked off before, I surprised even myself by how quickly it was over. Graham grabbed an old T-shirt off the floor and wiped us clean. I zipped up, but when Graham made a move to leave the car, I grabbed his arm. He settled back into the seat.

“Look,” he said, “you don’t have to—”

I put my hand on is crotch and was quite surprised to find out he was flaccid.

“Um—”

Graham sent me one of his glorious smiles. “Alex, don’t worry about it. You don’t need to reciprocate. I can tell it’s your first time.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? I mean, yes, it’s true, it’s my first time, but—_what the fuck was that supposed to mean?_

Graham let himself out of the car and slid into the front seat. He sat for a moment, then looked back at me. “Are you coming up to the front seat, or are you going to make this awkward?”

I don’t know what color red I turned, but I’m pretty sure scientists don’t have a name for it yet.

Graham reached back and put his hand on my thigh. “I didn’t mean it like that, Alex. I’m sorry. But I can tell you’re a novice, and we don’t need to rush things, that’s all. Now, please, come sit in the front seat so I don’t have to turn around to talk to you.”

Grumbling, I moved around to the front. I was still mortified and refused to look Graham in the eye. He sighed, gave my thigh a few pats, then started driving.

Once we were on our way, Graham started talking to me, but I couldn’t trust myself to say anything back. He kept apologizing, saying he didn’t mean to make me so upset, but his words had the opposite effect of their intention. When he pulled up in front of my house, he was visibly flustered. As I got out of the car, he grabbed my wrist. “Alex, please, don’t leave things like this. Let me know how I can make things up to you.”

Pettily, I shrugged him off. “Sorry, Graham. I just need some time to think.”

I checked in with my parents and let them know I had come home safely before closing myself in my room to think the evening over. I took several deep breaths to calm myself down and tried my best to think rationally. Logically I know that dicks have minds of their own, but who could be completely flaccid in a situation like that? If he didn’t like me like that, why did he even ask me out? And why did he give me a hand job?

Why did I let him give me a hand job? I’m fucking sixteen years old. I shouldn’t be dabbling in car jobs. What was I thinking?

I wasn’t thinking, and that was the problem. His hand had felt fucking fantastic. If a complete stranger showed up at my door right then and there and offered to jerk me off, I would hands down say yes. Fuck, I was starting to get hard just thinking about it. So why…?

Was it me? Did I not turn him on? He was the one who asked me on a date, and yet…

I hadn’t cried in almost four years, but I felt tears sting the corners of my eyes. This was getting me nowhere. I rubbed at my eyes, picked up my phone, and called Graham. When he answered, I started talking immediately, the words flowing from my mouth.

“Graham, it’s Alex, I’m so sorry I freaked. Sometimes when I get upset, I just need some time to process it. I’ve calmed down, and I need to tell you that I panicked because you weren’t hard. Lame, right?” I laughed nervously and was very glad when Graham cut me off.

“Alex, it’s alright.” I could tell by his tone of voice that he wasn’t upset. He may have even been smiling. “I’m not mad. And there’s no reason for you to be upset. I wasn’t hard, but it has nothing to do with you. I wanted to give you a hand job, but I didn’t need for you to return the favor.” I heard something in the background, and Graham must have covered the phone to say something because his voice was muffled. I turned beet red once more, thinking how there was someone in the room with him while he was talking about us. “Alex, I’m really glad you called. I still want to see you. What do you say to—”

This time, I definitely heard someone’s voice. Graham didn’t cover the speaker as well as he thought he did because I clearly heard him say, “Emily, stop, just give me a second,” then I heard a girl giggle.

“Listen, why don’t we try going out again tomorrow night, and we could—”

The girl must have grabbed the phone from him, because I heard strange noises on the other line before a girl spoke into my ear. “Listen, I don’t know who this is, but Graham needs to go. He’s got some tits to suck.”

“What—?”

There were some more muffled sounds on the other end, and Graham was back on the phone. “Alex, I’m so sorry, that’s my friend’s idea of a terrible joke. I’ll text you later.” And with that, he hung up.

What the actual fuck just happened?

He dropped me off barely twenty minutes ago. Where was he? And I really didn’t feel comfortable with him discussing the hand job with other people present.

And did that girl say that Graham had some tits to suck? What on Earth did that mean? Like, actual tits? Or metaphorical tits?

It was all too much to take in. I flung myself on my bed and took another series of deep breaths. When it came down to the brass tacks, how much did I really know about Graham? Sure, we played soccer together, but beyond that, I knew nothing about him.

Not knowing what else to do, I called Brayden. Maybe he knew more about our fellow teammate than I did. Hadn’t I seen them talk to each other? Or had I?

Breathe in, breathe out…

Brayden answered with his typical, “Yell-Oh!”

I rolled my eyes then got right to it. “Random, out of the blue question… How much do you know about Graham Miller?”

“That _is_ random. I don’t know too much, though. I’ve heard he’s a bit of a player. And I did hear that he brought two dates with him to prom last year.”

“But those are just rumors, right?”

I heard Brayden move about the room and then the squeak of a chair. “Alex, what is this all about? You sound a little freaked out.”

Brayden had moved to our school district about two years ago, so we hadn’t been friends for very long. He was about to get to know me a whole lot better when the evening’s events poured from my mouth. “Graham asked me on a date earlier this week. We went to the movies, and I thought things were going fine. We fooled around in his back seat”—I bit my tongue and spared him the full details—“but we finished on a bad note. He dropped me off, and when I called to apologize, he sounded like he was with a girl, like _with_ a girl.” My voice squeaked on the last few words. I cleared my throat before adding, rambling, “And I’m just freaked out because I’m feeling like he used me for—something, I don’t know what. And now he’s with this girl and you’re saying he’s a bit of a player. Was I _used_? I don’t want to be used!”

Brayden cleared his throat when I finally took a breath. “Okay, Alex, wow, what a way to come out to me. First off, I had no idea you were gay.”

“Oh.” I ran my hand through my hair. “I didn’t even think about that. Brayden, I’m gay.”

“Okay. Now that that’s out of the way, tell me more about what happened.”

I replayed the phone conversation in my head, trying to remember as many details as possible. “It was hard to hear everything, but there was a girl in the room when I called him. He called her Emily, and it _sounded_ like…she said something that made me think—”

I heard a chime on my phone. I moved the phone away from my ear to check and saw I had a picture message from Graham. Brayden was saying something on the other line, but I wasn’t listening. I opened up the picture and felt my heart freeze in my chest.

The picture, at least, solved the mystery of who the girl was.

Emily Hoover’s face hovered in most of the shot; she was the one holding the camera and taking the picture. In the background, completely oblivious, was Graham, stark naked, sleeping on his stomach. As I stared in shock at the picture, a new call came in…from Graham. I felt like I answered the call in slow motion. I couldn’t even speak into the phone, which I suppose was fine because Emily did all the talking.

“This is Emily. You seem like a nice kid, so let me break it down for you. Graham likes to do something that he calls ‘fishing.’ He reels in boys with his charms and good looks, and when he’s got them hooked, he fools around with them before tossing them back to sea. His words. I couldn’t give two shits about his cheesy fishing metaphor. But Graham and I have been dating for two years. If you’re fine with that, then go ahead, I don’t mind. We have an open relationship. But he’s broken a lot of hearts, and I try to save as many as I can.”

I didn’t realize she had hung up until I heard Brayden shouting my name over and over. I slowly lifted the phone to my ear. “Emily Hoover just called me. She and Graham are sleeping together.”

Brayden let out a sharp exhale. “Alex, that’s awful.” When I didn’t respond, he said, “Look, I’m going to come over to your house if you need someone to talk to.” I still didn’t say anything, but I could hear Brayden grab a pair of car keys and shout something. “I’m going to stay on the line while I drive over, okay? I’m here if you need me.”

True to his word, Brayden stayed on the phone. I climbed into my bed, pulled the sheets over my head, and tucked my phone next to my pillow. It was comforting to know that I had such a great friend, but my head was spinning in too many circles to do much more than lay still and think.

I heard a knock at the front door, but I didn’t budge from where I was. I noticed the phone had disconnected, and I could hear voices downstairs. Brayden must have been talking to my parents and filling them in on what happened—

Well, I guess my parents now know I’m gay. I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of coming out to people closest to me.

My bedroom door squeaked as it slowly opened. I felt someone sit down on the edge of the mattress, and my mom drew my covers away from my face. My dad stood a little further away with a funny look on his face. Dad’s not good at processing new information, and this was quite the doozy. He looked torn between confused and concerned. Brayden lingered in the doorway unsure whether he should be intruding on this family moment.

My mom’s hand brushing my hair out of my eyes felt nice. She leaned over and pulled me into a deep hug and kissed me on the cheek. Dad came over and rested his hand on my shoulder.

“First date and first heartbreak all in one night, huh?”

I get my wondrous way with words from my dad.

My mom swatted my dad’s hand. “Stop it! He’s upset. Don’t make things worse.”

Despite everything that had happened, despite the roar of emotions coursing through me, I laughed. “First date, first heartache, first cake, first place.”

“First take, first shake.”

My mom looked at us like we were from a different planet. “What am I going to do with you?”

Brayden approached us, worry lines creasing his forehead. “Are you feeling better, then?”

Shaking my head, I said, “No, I still feel like absolute garbage. Thanks so much for driving out here, though. I couldn’t ask for a better friend. Right now, I just want to put the whole thing out of my head. I’ve learned a terrible lesson tonight. I don’t know what lesson that is yet, but I’ll pull through.”

Mom kissed me on the forehead again and pulled me in for one final death grip hug. “Come downstairs, and I’ll make you chocolate chip pancakes. They always make me feel better.”

Dad pointed at her accusingly. “You said we were out of chocolate chips.”

True to her word, my mom made us pancakes. With full bellies, Brayden and I fell asleep on the couch around two AM watching TV. I didn’t talk any more about Graham, and Brayden didn’t ask. I was still trying to sort out my feelings and was still torn between heartbreak, embarrassment, and rage.

After a slow start that morning, Brayden invited me over to his place to play video games. Grateful for the offer that would at least minimally keep me distracted, we headed out. Halfway through the trip, I went rigid in my seat. This was not the route to his mom’s house.

We were on our way to his dad’s place.

If this were a movie, I would have opened up the car door and jumped out. However, I’m pretty sure I have very brittle bones that would shatter into a million tiny pieces if I tried that. Instead, I just had to buck up and mentally prepare myself for not acting like a fool in Mr. Hartman’s presence. Speaking of cars…

“You don’t have a car. Whose car did you steal, and will I be implemented in the crime?”

Brayden snorted. “Relax. It’s my dad’s car. He let me borrow it last night when I came to your rescue.”

Maybe I was making too big of a deal out of this. Honestly, I had only met Mr. Hartman the one time. We barely spoke, and all I did was masturbate to him a couple of times. No biggie. In the meantime, I did a lot of growing up. I had a very short-term boyfriend who touched my dick, and then I found out I was “the other woman.” Crushes on my friend’s dad was baby stuff. I was a grown up now.

Oh, who the fuck was I kidding?

Well, I had intentionally set out to keep myself distracted. Not what I had in mind, but it could work.

We pulled into the driveway and saw Mr. Hartman pulling the trashcan from the street up to the house. When we got out of the car, he smiled at me and shook my hand. “Nice to see you again…”

“Alex,” Brayden prompted.

“Nice to see you again, Alex.”

Great. What a wonderful way to deflate my ego. The man I’ve been obsessing over doesn’t even remember my name.

The three of us entered the house, and Brayden started to get the video game ready. Mr. Hartman grabbed his keys and his wallet off the TV. “Boys, I’m headed to the gym. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

Well, damn. Here I had finally come to terms with the fact that I would be getting some major eye candy to get me through this hellish time, and now that candy was removing itself from the equation. Worst day ever.

The console finally started up with the most recent Super Smash Brothers game. I thought a fighting game was a perfect choice for how frustrated I was feeling. I let my embarrassment and confusion about how Graham used me bubble up to the surface, and for every punch my character dealt, I felt a moderate release of those emotions. I must have been more aggravated than I originally thought because my characters continued to pound Brayden’s into the ground. I could tell that Brayden was starting to get frustrated with his losing streak, so I purposely let him win a few rounds before going back to relentlessly taking out my feelings on these fictional characters.

I knew I pushed Brayden a little too far again when he threw the controller onto the coffee table. “Let’s take a break,” he suggested. “I’m going to get some sodas from the fridge.”

Feeling a little guilty, I suggested, “Maybe we can play a different game for awhile.”

But Brayden didn’t want my pity. He pointed a finger at me and said, “No way, man. You stay put. I’m giving my hands a little break, and then I’m going to crush you.”

I leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes, relaxing. I really did feel a little better. So what if Graham used me? I saw a great movie and had another guy jerk me off. It was definitely the best date I had ever been on. I thought back to the only other date I had ever had, when I took Melissa Lyons to homecoming freshman year. We had a terrible first kiss, and she dumped me the next day. So what if exactly 100% of every date I had ever been on was crappy? I was only sixteen. I had plenty of time to go on much better dates.

Brayden returned to the living room with two sodas. He eyed me with suspicion. “You’re smiling. Why are you smiling? You definitely weren’t smiling a few minutes ago.”

My grin widened even further, and I took one of the sodas from Brayden. “You know what? I’m going to be alright. Everything is okay.”

The front door opened, and Mr. Hartman entered. My heart slammed against my ribcage, and it took everything I had to keep my jaw from dropping.

Things were definitely going to be okay.

Mr. Hartman’s had his T-shirt slung over his shoulder, and his gym shorts had ridden down past his hips, letting a generous line of his underwear show. Going to the gym today clearly hadn’t been a one-time thing because his abdomen and chest muscles had a pleasant definition, and he was beginning to develop V-lines angling towards his crotch. The hair on his torso had been trimmed, and I struggled to keep my thoughts away from whether or not he trimmed his pubes as well.

Mr. Hartman pointed a finger at me. I froze, thinking he was about to call me out on staring at him. Instead, he said, “Alex. I remembered.”

My brain went fuzzy, and my tongue forgot how to form words. I pointed back at him and nodded.

I really did try to stop staring, but then I noticed how blue his eyes were and I was done for. Something about a man with dark hair and blue eyes just made me fucking lose my mind.

“I’ll be in the shower, and then I’ll make you boys some lunch.”

Somewhere off in the deep recesses of my brain, a tiny voice was shouting, “You have to move! You can’t stand there like a frozen popsicle! And for the love of God, say _nothing_! If words come out of your _stupid_ mouth, it will be something _stupid_, and you’ll have to live with it for the rest of your _stupid_ life! So _move_!”

I noticed I was still holding the can of soda. The air felt like jelly as I moved in slow-motion, raising my other hand to the pull tab and opening it. I took several long, slow sips before putting the half-empty can on the coffee table. Sitting down onto the couch seemed like an eternity, but once my ass hit cushion, the world was back to regular speed. Brayden picked up the two controllers and handed me one. I took mine like a normal human being would, and we started to play.

Without feeling the need to take out my anger on red plumbers, Brayden and I were much more evenly matched during the game. Having the game to focus on also helped keep my attention from wandering to the naked man upstairs. This was the second time that Mr. Hartman had showered while I was over, and I whole-heartedly hoped it became a tradition.

Mr. Hartman was upstairs for quite awhile, but when he came downstairs, I could tell why. He had spent some time trimming his facial hair, applying product to his hair, and dressing in gray jeans, a brown Henley, and Chuck Taylors. As he walked by, I caught a whiff of cologne.

Brayden eyed his dad with suspicion. “Dad, are you going back out later?” he asked.

“No, why?” Before Brayden could elaborate, Mr. Hartman pointed at the soda cans. “Are you done with those?”

I drained the last drop, and he held out his hand. “Thank you,” I said as I handed it to him. He exited into the kitchen, and I could hear him rinsing out my can before tossing it.

Brayden hit pause on the game and followed his dad to the kitchen. The way the house was set up, the living room shared three-quarters of a wall with the kitchen with an open archway connecting the two rooms. Together, both spaces were probably about the same square footage as my bedroom. From the couch, you cannot see into the kitchen. You’d have to stand up, walk all the way to the right side of the house, and peer around the corner through the archway. I don’t know if because Brayden couldn’t see me that he forgot that I couldn’t hear him loud and clear, or if he didn’t care, but the following conversation was not something I thought I should overhear.

“Dad, what on Earth is going on? You haven’t dressed nicely since you lived with Mom, and this house was a sty when I left it.”

I couldn’t catch everything Mr. Hartman said. He clearly recognized that out of eyeshot was not out of earshot.

“It _is_ my business, Dad. I know you took the divorce pretty hard, and I know you don’t want to hear this, but Mom and I are worried about you. So for you to live in squalor for six months then completely clean up overnight, that’s something I take notice of.”

Mr. Hartman spoke a little louder, probably subconsciously matching Brayden’s volume. “I realized that I don’t want you to feel embarrassed to bring your friends over. I know you and your mom think you’re being covert about what you say about me, but I hear it.”

There were a few moments of silence before Brayden said, “Thanks, Dad. And I know this is going to suck to hear, but you’re right. I’ve been too embarrassed to bring over friends in the past. When you served fucking hot dogs for dinner for us last time, I was mortified.” He laughed, but it was a hollow and nervous laugh.

I heard the fridge open and close. “Then I have some bad news about lunch.”

The silence that stretched between them grew uncomfortable. I picked up the controller and selected a character but was not prepared for the unexpectedly loud noise it would make. The sudden sound must have reminded the two Hartmans that they had a guest in their home and should maybe take their squabble down a notch.

A few minutes later, they both returned to the living room. Brayden picked up his dad’s keys and wallet. Apologetically, he said, “Alex, I’ll just be a minute. I’m going to run out to the grocery store, grab some stuff for lunch, and I’ll be right back. Anything in particular you want?”

“Peanut butter and jelly. And Mountain Dew.”

Brayden rolled his eyes. “You’re a monster, Alex.”

With that, he left, and I was left alone with Mr. Hartman.

Let me go back to reminding you, dear reader, that I’m a terrible person. A decent human being may have pulled out his phone and politely surfed the Internet while waiting for his friend to return. Or pretended to call his mother—or even _actually _call his mother—to get out of a precarious predicament. Being the awful piece of shit that I am, I held out the second controller to Mr. Hartman. Hesitantly, he took it, and we started to play.

When it came to the game, Mr. Hartman wasn’t a novice. In fact, he was even better than Brayden and gave me quite the run for my money. For the first few rounds, we sat in manly silence. I (hoped to God that I) inconspicuously breathed in his cologne. It was a really nice fragrance. Not at all like what high school teenagers typically wear, but a real, grown-up scent.

After the third game, Mr. Hartman offered to get me a glass of water, and I accepted. When he returned, I noticed that he sat a little closer on the couch and seemed more relaxed. Partway through the fourth round, he struck up a conversation.

“So, Brayden mentioned that you had a bad break-up last night. Is there anything I can do to help?”

His question took me by complete surprise, and my character fell of the ledge to its death. I found that appropriately fitting. How the fuck was I supposed to respond? By saying, “Fuck me, Daddy?”

Luckily my body was becoming accustomed to functioning normally in his presence, and my mouth moved appropriately to the sounds I was trying to make. “I appreciate your concern, but I think I’ll be okay. Graham and I had only been on the one date, so I think I’ll be alright.”

Wow, I am just the King of Coming Out. Graham’s name had slipped from my lips before I even considered the possibility that I was alone in a house with a potentially violent homophobe. I mean, this guy goes to the gym. He could probably snap my neck in half. But, being the superstar soccer player that I am, maybe I could make it halfway across the lawn before he caught me. Brayden would pull up, see my corpse on the lawn, say “not again,” and help his dad bury me in the backyard.

Having run through the absolute worst scenario in my head, it was almost a letdown that Mr. Hartman didn’t even react. No, “Get out, gay wad!” No, “Oh, you’re gay? Cool, cool. I once had a friend whose cousin was gay, so that makes me, like, 1/8th gay.” And not even, “Great! Now I have someone to shop with!” Even Brayden had a bigger reaction when I dropped the G-Bomb on him.

“Young love is hard. How old are you? Eighteen?”

“Sixteen,” I said, “but I’ll be seventeen in April.”

“That makes sense. Same age as Brayden.”

Almost on cue, Brayden walked into the house with two bags of groceries. Mr. Hartman stood up, took a bag from his son, and went into the kitchen. Not having much else to do, I picked up my water glass and followed them.

I realized this was my first time in the kitchen, and I suddenly understood some of Brayden’s concerns. I had always been confused as to why Mrs. Hartman lived in a beautiful suburban mini-mansion, but Mr. Hartman lived in a tiny shack near downtown. It must be really tough on Brayden to go back and forth between the two homes when there was such a large disparity between the two.

Packed in this little kitchen was a washer and dryer, a fridge, a sink, a stove, a dishwasher, and a small dining table. There was barely enough room to move around. The living room and stairs looked like they had new carpeting, and I hadn’t seen the upstairs yet, but the kitchen definitely left something to be desired. The flooring was yellowed linoleum that very well could have been white when it was first laid down. The cabinets had water spots and looked outdated, like something my grandparents would have in their house.

The kitchen table looked fairly new, however, maybe gently used, so I slid into a chair and sipped at my water. The two Hartmans worked together to put the food into the refrigerator then got started on lunch. Brayden chopped an onion and minced garlic while Mr. Hartman set a pot of water onto the stove to boil. While they cooked, the three of us conversed with ease. Mr. Hartman asked us questions about school and soccer and tactfully avoided any mention of love or relationships.

Once lunch was over, I once again realized I was feeling much better. Life would continue to move on around me, so why would I sit back and mope when I could fully immerse myself in this moment and enjoy it to its fullest?

Several notes chimed through the air before Brayden answered his phone. “It’s Mom,” he said before answering her with his usual, “Yell-Oh!” I could hear her voice on the other end but couldn’t make out what she was saying. After a few moments, Brayden rolled his eyes. “Mom, I really don’t want to. Now’s not a good—_no, _I didn’t roll my eyes! What do you mean you can tell? Look, it’s just—fine, fine. I’ll be right there.”

He hung up the phone and looked first at his dad, then at me. “Mom wants me to help her put up Halloween decorations.” He hung his head in defeat.

Mr. Hartman patted his son on the shoulder apologetically. “Good luck, son. Godspeed.”

Brayden looked at me. “I’ll probably be gone only about an hour”—“Ha!” snorted Mr. Hartman—“so you can stay here if you’d like. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Again, I was faced with two options. The calm, rational, not insane person would volunteer to go with Brayden so as not to be left alone in the house of a man who, if he asked if I wanted to fuck on a stage in front of a crowd of a million people, I would say yes. A thousand times yes. But, no, I’m a terrible excuse for a human being, and if Mr. Hartman turned to me right that second and told me to get on my knees and suck his dick, I absolutely would, no doubt about it.

I tried to shrug as nonchalantly as I could. “Sure, I’ll wait for you.”

Mr. Hartman and I walked Brayden to the front door. “Tell your mom she owes me for gas,” Mr. Hartman grumbled. I knew Brayden heard him, but he tactfully ignored the jab. He grabbed the keys to the car and left the house.

I could tell Mr. Hartman was a little unsure of what to do with his son’s friend, so when I handed him the controller again, he took it. Just like before, we played a few rounds before Mr. Hartman struck up the conversation again. Surprisingly, he picked up right where we had left off, before lunch.

“So, what triggered the break up?” I could tell he meant to have casually asked this question, but it was not camouflaged as well has he had intended.

I didn’t know how to respond at first. He didn’t seem like he was prying, nor did he carry that look my mom had, looking at me with pity in their eyes, something to mend and fix. Debating for a moment how to answer, I adopted his neutral tone and said, “We only went on one date, so I don’t even know if you could call it ‘breaking up.’ After he dropped me off, his girlfriend called me to fill me in on the situation.”

“Oh, that’s rough.” Mr. Hartman still spoke casually and nodded his head. “I’ve been cheated on on three separate occasions. It’s rough.”

Who the fuck could cheat on this handsome bastard? I wondered if Mrs. Hartman was one of the ones who cheated on him. But then, why did she get the big house and he got stuck with the shitty place?

Mr. Hartman scratched at his chin. “Tell me if it’s not any of my business, but when Brayden was on the phone with you last night, he said you sounded distraught. He was genuinely worried about you, said you’d never behaved this way before. Now you say it was just ‘one date,’ but I think there’s something more. And if you need someone to talk to about it, I’m here.”

I was torn. On the one hand, I wasn’t able to bring up the topic of the hand job with Brayden, and I don’t think I could ever talk to my mom and dad about something so personal, so here I was presented with an opportunity to address the one thing that had bothered me the most. His calm, neutral tone had put me at ease, and I decided to see if he’d live up to his word. If I crossed the line, I could always walk out and have my mom pick me up somewhere. My stomach was crawling as I thought back to last night, and I recognized that even though I’d mostly accepted certain aspects of what happened, it would make me feel a whole lot better to have someone to talk to.

I let out a deep breath. “Let me know if I cross the line at any point.”

Mr. Hartman paused the game and gave me his full attention. Before I could start talking, however, he deadpanned, “You’re part of a biker gang that meets on Friday nights at the local pool hall. You wear masks and rubber gloves and nothing else and take turns fisting the female groupies. You’ve been fine with this aspect of your life, but you realize you’ve fallen in love with Stacia and feel uncomfortable watching her get fisted by a dozen men each week. You invite her out, lay out your feelings for her, but she laughs in your face, saying that this is the life she chose, and she could never see herself getting tied down to one man. Mortified, you pack up your life and move to Arkansas where you start over as an assistant banker.”

I realized my jaw had dropped, and I struggled to regain my composure. “No, that’s…”

Mr. Hartman smiled. “Kid, you’re sixteen. Nothing you say will shock me. That story actually happened to a buddy of mine when we were in college. He still calls me once in a while. He’s married now, with four kids.”

The ice was broken, and I smiled back. “My story seems G-rated now,” I quipped. I took a deep breath and plunged in headfirst. “Graham asked me out on a date, so we went to the movies. I’ve only been on one other date, so I was really nervous. After the movie, Graham took me out to his car where we started making out. Then he”—I glanced apprehensively at Mr. Hartman, then realized I couldn’t meet his eyes and instead stared at the carpet—“he gave me a hand job. It was the first time anyone’s ever touched me like that.” My entire body was hot and flushed with embarrassment, but it felt good to talk to someone about what had happened. “When I finished, I was going to return the favor. He said ‘no,’ and I noticed he wasn’t even hard. He said it was no big deal but also said stuff like how he could tell it was my first time. After I got home, I called him to apologize, and I could hear a girl in the background. Later, she sent me a picture of Graham naked on a bed, then called me to tell me they have an open relationship. She said they’ve been together for a while, and I’m not the first person he’s fooled around with while they’ve been together.”

I ran out of steam and didn’t know what else to say. When Mr. Hartman didn’t respond, I tried to play it off. “I don’t know. I’m clearly making a bigger deal out of this than it really is.”

Mr. Hartman held up his hand. “Stop. Let me organize my thoughts first.” About two minutes passed before he started speaking again. “First, it’s not about whether or not you’re ‘making a big deal’ out of the situation. It’s about how he made you feel with his actions and words. We already know that going into this situation—Graham, was it?” I nodded, and he continued. “Graham entered your life already having a girlfriend. What he was interested in getting from you was very different from what you expected out of the situation. He should have been straight-forward and honest about the girlfriend from the get-go.

“Second, I have been in a situation where the erection wasn’t doing what it was supposed to. All guys know that boners have minds of their own: they’re hard when they should be soft, and they’re soft when they should be hard. It happens to everyone. However, it is very easy to think, ‘He doesn’t have an erection, he must not like me.’ My first girlfriend, I could _not_ get hard the first time we had sex. We spent an unusual amount of time talking about the situation, and it turns out that frequently, anxiety about your first sexual encounter can get in the way of what the rest of your body wants to do.”

You know those TV shows in the 1990s where the main character froze time and talked to the audience? I wish I had that power. What in the fucking Twilight Zone was going on here? My friend’s dad was speaking _very frankly _to me about his sex life. When my dad sat me down for “the talk,” there were absolutely zero personal anecdotes about past experiences. I didn’t know if I should shout, “Stop talking!” and run away, or if I should pull off my clothes and say, “Why don’t you just show me?”

“You’re sixteen… God, you’re so young, but I guess that’s about the age that I became sexually active. It’s just different when you get older and have kids, I guess. How old is Graham?”

“He’s a senior, so seventeen or eighteen. I don’t know when his birthday is.”

“That’s…very young to be so promiscuous. Not excusing his behavior, but he probably hasn’t considered how his actions have affected those around him. For him to say he could tell it’s your first time shows that he only thought about the impact his words may have had on you after he already said them.”

I nodded, introspective. After a few moments, I said, “Thank you…for talking to me. It’s really awkward to talk about…personal stuff, especially since it was me and another guy. It was nice to…get out in the open what was really bothering me.”

Mr. Hartman clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I used to keep things bottled up, too, but ever since the divorce, I’ve found how helpful it is to open up to someone and to be heard. It’s very challenging, too, since my ex-wife and I shared the same circle of friends. It felt like we were pitting everyone against each other. Anyway, when I found someone on neutral ground I could talk to, things became much easier to cope with.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Did you…want to talk about it?”

A pained expression crossed over his face before he purposefully replaced it with a smile. “That’s very sweet of you, but I couldn’t unload myself onto you. You’re friends with my son. I can’t have you thinking about my baggage any time you go see his mother.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

After that, the conversation stalled, and we resumed playing our game until Brayden returned. He started grumbling about all the work he had to do, putting up his mother’s decorations. I barely noticed Mr. Hartman head upstairs. Brayden threw himself down on the couch, picked up his dad’s controller, and we started to play. Very little conversation passed between the two of us, and I lost complete track of time. Eventually, my mom called my phone and came to pick me up.

At the very least, my emotions felt much more settled than they had, and I had two people to thank for that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex finds excuses to meet up with Grayson. He tries (and fails) to keep his mind off his crush by dating other people.

I don’t know how the fact that I’d have to face Graham at school escaped my thoughts, but it wasn’t until I passed him in the hallway between classes that I realized how much remained unsaid between the two of us. Technically if neither one of us officially said we were dating, did we have to break up? And what about soccer? How could I face him after what happened?

I didn’t see Graham during the remainder of the school day, but I did see that I had a text from him at lunch, sent right after we passed each other in the halls. It said, “Didn’t hear from you this weekend. Wanted to give you some space and some time to think. Hope we can go on another date this weekend?”

What the actual fuck?

It was at that point where I realized he probably didn’t know Emily had contacted me. The pettiest part of me wanted to forward him the picture text she sent me, but then I remembered I had deleted it. Instead I texted him, “Let’s talk after school, before practice.”

After school, Graham and I caught each other’s eye outside the locker room. We stepped off to the side of the hallway where it was a little more secluded but not private. He leaned in to kiss me, but I held out my hand to stop him.

Sighing frustratedly, I said, “Graham, I know about Emily. I don’t feel comfortable going on dates with you knowing that you have a girlfriend.”

The man didn’t even flinch. I wondered how often he had this conversation. He smiled and said, “Most people are apprehensive, but I promise, our relationship really is open. She doesn’t get jealous.”

Internally I scoffed at the notion. And then my insides froze. How many other people was he seeing right now, at this moment? Surely, he wouldn’t be satisfied with just Emily and myself. Who else was there?

And then I found I didn’t care. “Sorry, Graham. It’s just not going to work out.”

Graham shrugged. He wasn’t angry; he wasn’t offended. It was like my words didn’t elicit a response from him at all. Just that shrug. He said, “All right, well, I’ll see you at practice!” Then he headed into the locker room to change.

All things considered, I really dodged a bullet there.

Brayden had been watching from further down the hallway. He jogged over and asked, “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay. I think things turned out for the best, actually.”

Brayden smiled. “Okay. Just let me know if he gives you any trouble, and I’ll kick his ass for you.”

* * *

With school and soccer, I quickly began running short on free time. My schedule kept me very busy, and before I knew it, Halloween was here and gone, then Thanksgiving had sailed on by. It was practically Christmas break before we had our last game of the season. We had a huge celebration at Brayden’s mom’s house. (I kept hoping Mr. Hartman would show, but I don’t know why I thought he would.)

Suddenly I was without practice or games, and I didn’t know what to do with all my spare time. Usually I played tennis in the spring, but I had several weeks of freedom before I had to commit myself to something. The midterms for my classes were fairly straightforward, so there was only so much studying to do before school let out. So I spent much of my time watching stupid videos on my phone. Every time Mom passed my bedroom, she complained that I was sinking further and further into my bed until eventually she would have to send in a search and rescue team. Finally, the Saturday before midterms, in a bit of a huff, my mom shouted, “Why don’t you join a gym or something instead of just lazing about?”

And that’s when a terrible idea hit me. Mr. Hartman works out at a gym. If I could find some way to find out what gym he worked out at, then show up on the same days and at the same time…without appearing like I’m stalking him, of course. That was the tricky part.

I decided to test my luck. I texted Brayden. “My mom wants me to join a gym and work out before tennis starts. Want to go with me?”

There. Maybe once we started working out together, I could steer the conversation towards his dad and which gym he uses. Then, when Brayden inevitably got sick of the gym, I could _switch _to his dad’s gym, then hope I got lucky enough to figure out his schedule.

My plan was quite involved and included several parts that were beyond my control. However, I got much luckier than I could have imagined. Brayden texted, “I’ve already joined a gym with my dad. We go to Work-Out World off Highway 12. Now that soccer’s over, we go together almost every day at 7:30 PM. You’re more than welcome to join us!”

You know that scene in the animated version of the Grinch where he gets that evil look on his face and his grin gets so big that his little ear tendrils curl? That’s how I imagined I looked at that moment.

I ran the details by my mother, and things got even better. “Sure. I’ll lend you the money, and you can take my car.” I must have been driving her _really _crazy because she rarely lent me money and _never_ let me drive her car. I tried pushing her a little further, asking if she could lend me money so I could buy a new gym bag, and the look she gave me sent me scuttling back into my bedroom. Her shouts of “you already have plenty of sports equipment” followed me even after I closed my door.

Speaking of which…

I grabbed one of my smaller bags and stuffed it full of what I thought I’d need. It was only two o’clock in the afternoon, but I was ready to go. Antsy, I grabbed the bag and decided to head out to Work-out World to buy a membership and check out the facilities. Mom eyed me suspiciously when I came back downstairs but let me go without comment. I felt like I was trying to pull her keys out of a vise grip, but she let go when I suggested she could come with me.

The gym was pretty spacious and had multiple sets of weight-lifting equipment. There were also plenty of mirrors, so I should be able to covertly stare at Mr. Hartman without getting caught. The manager produced a monthly contract for me to sign, and I handed over the cash. They had a minimum three-month signup fee, which I wasn’t expecting, so I asked for a copy of the contract to bring home to Mom. They printed me a copy, and that was that. The whole experience took me less than an hour. I stowed my bag in a locker and tried to decide what to do with the remaining four and a half hours. Knowing Mom could potentially ground me if I took the car anywhere that wasn’t on the original itinerary, I really had no choice other than to drive back home.

Time slowed to a crawl. I found myself continuously counting down the time until I needed to leave. I made sure to set an alarm on my phone knowing that if I didn’t, I would somehow lose track of time and wouldn’t realize it until it was too late.

I went downstairs to watch TV with my dad. We flipped back and forth between college football games until Mom announced dinner was ready. She must have been in an even crazier mood than normal because she let us eat dinner in front of the TV. Dad was just as surprised as I was, but we were both smart enough not to say anything. Dinner was a simple chicken and broccoli casserole. I think if it had been chocolate chip pancakes, we would have had an intervention at that point.

Around seven, my mind wouldn’t stay focused on anything except the gym. I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to shower beforehand or wait. It would look silly if I showed up showered only to sweat and have to reshower, but I also didn’t want to look like a slob. I decided against showering, and my brain switched to obsessing over what I was going to wear. I had originally planned on wearing track pants and a T-shirt, but then my brain started convincing me that I should consider other options. I told my brain to shut up, which didn’t work, but at least I tried.

When I headed back downstairs, my mom was waiting for me. Her smile turned into an expression of confusion when she saw me. “You’re wearing _that_?”

Now it was my turn to look confused. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t I wear gym clothes to the gym?”

“Oh, you’re really going to the gym. You were smiling so much today that I thought you were secretly going on a date.”

An ice cube dropped in the pit of my stomach. I would have to be a lot more careful. “Nope, I’m really just going to the gym. You need to stop reading so many romance novels.” As I walked out the door, I decided to tease her by saying over my shoulder, “The secret date was earlier this afternoon.”

I could hear her shouting behind me, but I smirked and closed the door.

When I arrived, Brayden was waiting by the front door. He waved and said his dad had already gone on ahead. He was surprised when I told him that I had already signed the contract and gotten my key fob earlier that afternoon but didn’t comment any further. We chose to begin on the treadmill, and I was surprised at how much endurance I had lost since the end of soccer season. Maybe mom was right about joining a gym.

After a 30-minute run, we headed over to the weights. Brayden said his dad had taught him several exercises on the free weights, so he worked on the barbells while I headed toward the machines.

The way the gym was set up was there was a track running along the exterior of the equipment. As I settled into a machine to work on my pectorals, Mr. Hartman jogged by my station. He caught my eye and waved. I was midway through a rep and couldn’t wave back but I nodded my head. I was glad I was already red in the face from the treadmill run earlier so that my blush was camouflaged.

In the two-ish months since I had seen him, Mr. Hartman’s body was even more toned than before. He had also been very clearly working on his leg muscles because his calves were much more defined than before. Every time I thought my crush on him had faded, my heart told me otherwise. It was slamming so hard in my chest that I had to pause and catch my breath before continuing.

By the time I had finished my reps, Mr. Hartman had finished his laps. He jogged over and shook my hand. “Glad you decided to work out with us. Brayden has done nothing but complain since he started coming with me. Maybe you boys can motivate each other.”

Oh, I had all the motivation I needed, trust me.

I headed to the rowing machine then headed over to the pull up bars. Mr. Hartman approached the bars caddy-corner to mine at the same time. My brain shut down, and completely against my will, I took off my shirt.

We started our pull ups at the same slow pace, but where I had spent the fall season playing soccer, Mr. Hartman had spent at least three months working on his entire body. I tried to keep up with his pace, but by the sixth rep, my arms were burning, and I had to slow down. By my tenth pull up, I was at a snail’s pace, and I didn’t make it to my twelfth without having to rest. Mr. Hartman was still keeping his initial pace, up to at least his twentieth pull up by that point. I used my shirt to wipe the sweat from my forehead and covertly watched his muscled frame rise and fall. I counted three reps before I started mine again.

Brayden jogged over from his machine and put his hands on his thighs. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to hit the showers, then I’ll meet you in the locker room.”

“I’ll come with you,” I told him and wiped down my machine.

After we were partway to the showers, Brayden said, “Dad will keep going until I finish my shower. On days he has off work, he comes to the gym in the mornings to jog, then again in the evenings with me. I mean, I love playing sports, but there’s something about ‘going to the gym’ that just makes me feel miserable.”

I laughed, then asked what sport he would be playing in the spring. He said he hadn’t decided yet, but it was a tossup between lacrosse and baseball. I remembered that he had played baseball last year, but he said he was willing to try lacrosse.

I headed to my locker and grabbed a set of clean clothes before hopping in the shower. Thankfully I remembered to bring soap and shampoo. I had forgotten to do that frequently in the past. After applying deodorant, running a comb through my hair, and putting my clean clothes on, I put some of my stuff back in the locker but brought my bag and my dirty clothes with me to go home.

On my way out the door, I could see Brayden waiting for his dad by the vending machines, a Gatorade in hand. I waved, and Brayden waved back, rolling his eyes in his dad’s direction. I smiled, then headed out the door to go home.

I’ve got to say that my mom was pretty upset when I came home. She pointed accusingly at my clothes. “That’s not what you were wearing when you left!”

I laughed at her suspicions. “Mom, I changed at the gym. I can let you smell my stinky clothes, if you’d like.”

Dad passed by and listened in on our conversation. “What is going on?”

“Mom thinks I have a secret boyfriend.”

Dad slowly looked between my mom’s scowl and my neutral expression. Then, he said, “Well? Do you?”

I laughed again until I realized he was completely serious. What was going on? “No, I don’t have a secret boyfriend! Why would you think that?”

Mom held up her hand and ticked off her reasons on her fingers. “You’ve had this huge dopey grin on your face for several weeks, especially right before you look at your phone.” Another finger. “You’ve been pining in your bedroom for days on end.” Another finger. “You do nothing for hours and hours on end, then get a sudden burst of energy.” A fourth finger. “And last but not least, you are an attractive sixteen-year-old male.”

Dad pitched in. “We just want to know that no matter who you’re dating, we want you to be safe.”

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “I think I’d let you know if I was going on a secret date.”

Mom still had the four fingers up in the air, and she poked me in the chest with them. “Don’t even start with me, Buster. You didn’t tell us about the last boy. Your friend told us about him.”

“That’s true,” I admitted, “but there hasn’t been anyone else. I promise I’ll let you know if there is.”

Mom backed off a little, but she wasn’t done. “You’ll at least tell us if you have a crush on someone.” When I hesitated, she went back to poking me. “Who is it?” she demanded.

I put my hands up defensively. “It’s no one, Mom. It’s just a stupid crush.” Her eyes narrowed. I think at this point, even _she_ didn’t know why she was pushing so hard, but now that she was committed to interrogating me, she was going to get some answers, damn it! “It won’t ever amount to anything, trust me.”

“And why not? Who wouldn’t want to date my sweet, handsome little boy?”

Even Dad cringed at that. He looked back and forth between us, unsure what his role should be.

“He’s…older, Mom. It will just never work out. It’s just a phase, and I’ll get over it.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped back one step. “It’s not a teacher, is it?”

“No, no, nothing like that. He’s just…someone I see from time to time.” At that moment, I decided to lie to my mother, something I hadn’t done since I was five years old and told her I hadn’t eaten pudding before dinner, even though my hands and face were covered in sticky chocolate. My father pulled me aside after that and spoke more sternly to me than I had ever heard him speak before, saying to never ever lie to my mother, so help me. And I hadn’t, until that moment. “He’s my friend’s older brother. I think he’s in college. He has a girlfriend.”

Whatever went through my mom’s head at that moment, I will never know, but I saw the tension release from her shoulders with a big sigh. I thought she would say more on the subject, but instead she said, “Put your gym clothes in the washer, and I’ll start a load of laundry.”

Dad, too, looked visibly relieved when Mom said this. He looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and went back to the living room to watch TV.

* * *

Midterms came and went, and I was faced with two glorious weeks out of school. Not used to having my mom so interested in my personal life, I was suddenly hyper aware of how I spent my free time. I alternated days between staying home and going out with friends. When I invited friends over, I made certain that the same mix of friends never came over twice in a row. Mom never said anything further, but I couldn’t be sure that she hadn’t somehow turned into a mind reader.

I continued going to the gym several times a week, even on days that Brayden said he couldn’t make it. As far as I knew, Brayden hadn’t found out about my massive crush on his dad. God forbid he and my mom ever talk to one another alone and put two and two together.

I continued my pattern of running on the treadmill for 30 minutes, then lifting weights for 30 minutes. Knowing I had tennis coming up, I focused on my arms and shoulders. One day a week I spent working on my abs and legs.

After about half a dozen gym sessions, Mr. Hartman approached me. “Brayden said you’re playing tennis next semester. If you’re interested, there’s a small group of employees and their children at my work that play tennis casually on the weekends. You’re more than welcome to join us until your season starts.”

Did he…just ask me out on a date? I immediately started scolding myself. No, no, no, that’s not at all what this is. Don’t take it that way. He’s just a really nice guy who happens to be _twice your age so stop it_.

Aloud, I said, “Thanks so much for the offer. I’d love to.”

And now I had committed to more time with this handsome brute. Part of me recognized that I was beginning to infiltrate particularly dangerous territory, but another part of me really didn’t fucking care.

That Saturday, mom let me take her car, and I drove to the public park with my tennis racquet and other equipment. When I pulled up to the courts, there were six other vehicles in the lot. Four people were already on the courts: a teenage girl, a young woman in her early twenties, and two older men in their late forties. There were several family groups milling around, and the children ranged in ages six to eighteen.

I saw Mr. Hartman at the fence cheering on the tennis players. He looked up when I approached and greeted me warmly. He introduced me to some of the others in the group but never specified that I wasn’t his son and no one asked.

We watched a few rounds, then I took my turn on the court. As I played doubles with three of the other kids, I was grateful that I had taken Mr. Hartman up on the offer to get in some game time. My skills had rusted since last year, but at least soccer had kept my endurance up. As the others started to tire, I still had energy and started to play better by comparison.

Mr. Hartman played a singles match against a woman in her thirties at the same time as my game, so I didn’t get a chance to watch him. I didn’t know how often he played tennis, but by the cheers from some of the other people, it sounded like he was holding his own pretty well.

When we both finished our sets, we sat in the bleachers and drank water. We quietly watched two games going on in the courts, cheering occasionally when there was an especially good play.

“I never asked what you do for a living,” I said.

He smiled and said mysteriously, “I work for the government. If I tell you what I do, I’ll have to kill you.”

I knew he was kidding, but I wasn’t so sure about any of his coworkers.

When he saw me eyeing a particularly built man with a crew cut, he laughed. “Relax. We’re not CIA. We work with planes. I’m an engineer, and he”—he pointed at crew cut—“is a mechanic.” He pointed at a young family. “I don’t know who they are. It’s a public park, so they could be anybody. This group has been going for about four years now, so a lot of locals have joined up.”

A few cars had driven up since I had arrived. I played another round of doubles with a new mix of people. I felt much surer of myself during the second set, and my opponents weren’t able to score as many points off me. We ended up going to a tie breaker, which my partner and I eventually lost, but it was a fun game nonetheless.

After my match, I went back to the bleachers to relax. I noticed a woman in her late forties talking to Mr. Hartman. Next to her sat a boy about my age, probably her son. (I doubted many others here were with their kids’ friends, but I guess anything was possible.) As I approached, Mr. Hartman introduced the woman to me as Nancy Scott and her son as Nathan Scott. I had never seen him before, so I assumed he went to a separate high school.

My spot on the bleachers had been taken while I was playing, so the only open spot to sit was next to Nathan. I sat down and chugged about half a water bottle. Nathan was doing a strange thing with his eyes where he was trying to look at me without me noticing, but it had the opposite effect.

Closing my water bottle, I struck up a casual conversation. “Are you a sophomore or a junior?”

He looked surprised that I was speaking to him and even glanced over his shoulder to make sure I wasn’t talking to someone behind him. “Junior. Eagle Glade.”

Ah, I was right. He went to my rival high school. “I’m a Junior, too. Madison High. Go Bears.”

He smiled weakly.

When he didn’t say anything further, I pointed to the court. “Do you play for your school’s tennis team?”

Nathan shook his head. “No. I only play casually. I’m not…competitive.”

His mom looked over and smiled when she heard his comment. “That’s not true, sweetie. You compete in your school’s marching band competitions.”

A brighter shade of red I had never seen. He mumbled something that I couldn’t hear.

When his mom turned back to talk to Mr. Hartman, I asked Nathan, “What instrument do you play?”

“Trumpet,” he muttered.

I nodded sagely. “You know what I heard about trumpet players?”

The look he gave me wasn’t a pleasant one. It was clear that when most people talked to him about marching band, the conversations weren’t always respectful.

Ignoring his look, I leaned in closer. I waved my hand dramatically like I was about to tell a secret. The look he wore never left his face, but it did soften, and he leaned closer. Conspiratorially, I said, “Trumpet players are the best kissers.”

Nathan leaned back abruptly, stared in shock, then started laughing. “That’s ridiculous,” he said.

I smiled as he continued to laugh. “It’s true,” I said. “I have a friend in band. She plays the flute, and she performed an experiment. She kissed one guy from each instrument section and concluded scientifically that trumpet players are the best kissers. She says it has to do with their…uh…mouth muscles, but she had a fancy word for it.”

“Embouchure.”

“Yeah, that’s it. She’s in our marching band, but I’ve never seen a competition.”

I saw Mr. Hartman sneak a glance my way. He seemed pleased that I had gotten Nathan to open up a little. From what little I could tell, the guy seemed to be quite the introvert, and probably one that had been picked on quite frequently. To be fair, as someone who plays sports and could therefore be considered a “jock,” I would be the type of person who would pick on him, a “nerd.” However, this was not _The Breakfast Club_. I didn’t care who the person was; I would try to be friends with them.

Feeling good about myself, I analyzed the situation as an outsider. Here was a nice woman with her nice son, and here I was willing to break the ice and make his acquaintance. It’s funny how sometimes pieces all come together, and people are at the right place at the right—_oh my God, Mr. Hartman set me up._

I twisted abruptly in my chair to stare down Mr. Hartman, but he was chatting with someone on his other side, facing away from me. I recalled earlier how Nathan had been subtly checking me out and how he laughed at my kissing comment. This kid thought I was cute! Mr. Hartman and Mrs. Scott had probably discussed previously that Nathan was gay, then, for whatever fucking reason, Mr. Hartman thought that I might be a possible romantic candidate for him. The nerve of that man! He didn’t invite me to play tennis; he invited me so he could play Cupid!

I grabbed my water bottle and slowly drank from it to give myself a moment to think. Obviously, Mr. Hartman didn’t know I was madly obsessed with him. Or maybe he did, and that’s why he took the opportunity to let me meet Nathan. Or _maybe_ Nathan and I were the only two gay people Mr. Hartman knew, so it made perfect sense that we belonged together.

By the time I finished my water bottle, I had cooled down some. What would it hurt if I got to know Nathan better, anyway? He was kind of cute, but not someone who would grab my attention from the get-go. Besides, even if we ended up not dating one another, I might gain a new friend.

So what could it hurt?

“So you’re in band, you play tennis casually…what else do you like to do?”

Nathan looked at me strangely, like he didn’t understand why I was still talking to him. “Look, I’m a nerd. I watch anime, I play video games, and I’m in band.”

Not to be put off, I said, “What video games do you play? I play FIFA, Super Smash Brothers, and Grand Theft Auto.”

He looked embarrassed when he said, “I play World of Warcraft.”

“What’s that?” I asked. “Is that on PlayStation?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s a computer game. It’s an MMORPG.”

“A what?”

“Never mind.”

I was mildly offended by how flippant he was being. Here I was genuinely trying to start a conversation, and he was actively shutting it down. I had to resist the urge to flip him off and leave. But I take after my mom. Like her, once I get committed to something, I want to see it through. Dad calls us bull-headed.

As casually as I could, I said, “What would you do if you met someone new, asked that person questions to try to get to know them better, and that person answered very brusquely?”

I wasn’t expecting the glower Nathan threw my way. “I’m not being brusque. Look, you can probably tell, but I usually get bullied by people like you, so I’m not exactly willing to open myself up to that.”

Whoa! People like me? What is that supposed to mean?

Nathan’s mom glanced over at us. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, so I waited until she looked away before speaking quietly enough that she probably couldn’t hear me.

“I’m sorry people haven’t been exactly nice to you, but that’s no reason to attack me and my character. Why don’t we start over? I think you’ve gotten the wrong impression of me. Yes, I like sports. I like to play soccer and tennis, and I played tee-ball when I was younger. I go to the gym and run and lift weights. Those are just things I like to do. I also like to meet people and make friends. I have friends who party every weekend, and I have friends who would rather stay home and read a book. I have friends who play sports, and I have friends in chorus, band, and drama. My best friend plays soccer with me, but he also plays more video games than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s also pretty lazy and would rather take a nap than run laps, but if you ask him to play soccer, he’ll meet you there in a heartbeat. Another thing about me is that I do very well in school. I get A’s and B’s, always do my homework, and study for tests.”

I paused to catch my breath, and Nathan stared at me like I was nuts. To be honest, I get that look quite frequently.

When Nathan didn’t say anything, I prompted him. “Since we’re starting this get-to-know-you all over, I want you to tell me about yourself.”

Did I mention that my dad calls me bull-headed? I stared Nathan down until he started talking. He started off quietly at first, then gained steam as he continued. “Fine. My name is Nathan, and I’m a junior at Eagle Glade High School. I play trumpet in band. My favorite color is blue.” He paused, staring back at me. Finally, his frustrated expression eased back into a tolerant smile. “You’re genuine, aren’t you? This is not just an act?”

I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. I’m this charming around everyone that I meet.”

A small laugh, then a bigger smile. “Sorry I was an ass. I’ve been hurt in the past. Kids at my old school used to dare each other to pretend to be nice to me, then call me a ‘fag’ and run off.”

“That’s awful!” I exclaimed louder than I had intended. Mrs. Scott’s head whipped back towards us, concerned. When she saw we were alright, she hesitantly turned back to her conversation with Mr. Hartman. More quietly, I added, “I can understand why you’d be hesitant talking to random strangers. What an atrocious thing for someone to do to another human being.”

“The kids at Eagle Park are a lot nicer, especially the kids in band. I’ve gotten better about opening up to people, believe it or not.”

I chuckled. “I don’t know if I quite believe it.” I pointed to the courts. “Hey, do you want to play a set with me?”

Nathan shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

We both stood up and headed closer to the courts to wait our turn. We opted to play a doubles game against each other. A six-year-old girl was on my team while Nathan’s teammate was an overeager nine-year-old boy.

The game was all over the place. My poor teammate couldn’t serve the ball from the service line, so I offered to hoist her up on my shoulders. I tossed the ball gently in the air. Her first try, she completely missed and almost slapped me in the face with the racquet. The second time I tossed it, she smacked the ball as hard as she could, and it flew over our opponents’ heads and out of bounds. She cheered so loudly that I didn’t have the heart to tell her we didn’t get the point.

Nathan played tennis pretty well, but his teammate kept running all over the court, cutting in front of him to hit the ball. We exchanged looks over the net and couldn’t help but laugh. The little boy was so gung-ho about each of his plays that we didn’t really mind his erratic strategy.

We ended up not completing the entire set. We topped out at three games when my teammate walked off the court because she thought it was over. She walked over to her mother and asked if she could go to the playground instead. Nathan’s teammate must have also thought the playground sounded like a much better idea than tennis because he was next to run off the court.

I jerked my head in the direction of the bleachers and motioned for Nathan to follow me. Out of earshot of his mother, I stopped him.

“I think I’m going to head out,” I told him, “but I’d like to see you again. Since we’re still out of school, what do you say about going putt-putt golfing with me tomorrow?”

Nathan looked towards his mother, almost as if he was asking for permission. “I can’t tomorrow,” he said. “I have something I have to do at home. What about Monday evening?”

“I’d love to.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and added his name to my contacts. “What’s your number?”

Nathan didn’t seem sure about exchanging numbers with me, like he was concerned I’d suddenly start laughing and say it was all one big joke. Considering what he had told me had happened to him in the past, this may have been exactly what he was thinking.

I took a minute to say goodbye to Mr. Hartman, and then I was on my way. When I had accepted Mr. Hartman’s invitation to play tennis with him, I would have never expected to have left with another boy’s number. Perhaps spending time with someone my own age would cool my lust for my friend’s dad.

But as I left, I cast a glance back over my shoulder, and my heart skipped a beat. Hair, eyes, face, body… The crush that had begun to develop back in September was still going strong in late December. In fact, having gotten to know him, I think I had grown _more _attracted to him. Recognizing that fact didn’t make me feel any less terrible about the situation as a whole. In fact, it made me feel bolder. Instead of purposely trying to keep my feelings at a silly crush level, I had found ways to spend more and more time with him.

Sliding into Mom’s car, I rested my forehead on the steering wheel. What was wrong with me? It’s not like Mr. Hartman could ever feel the same way about me. I was the same age as his _son_. He would never look at me and think, “There’s someone I could see myself on a date with.” No, he’d always see me as “that kid who’s friends with my son.” Thinking it over, I realized I thought of him in similar ways. I always referred to him in my head as “Mr. Hartman” or “Brayden’s dad.” When I had first met him, he pulled that whole “call me Grayson” nonsense that some adult pull.

But why _didn’t _I start calling him by his first name?

“No, no, no, _no_,” I mentally chastised myself. I needed to _stop_ finding ways to change our relationship into something different.

And _why_ was I brooding over Mr. Hartman when less than 50 feet away from him was a boy my own age _who I had just asked on a date_? Was I _trying _to make my life as troublesome as possible?

I could still see Mr. Hartman, Mrs. Scott, and Nathan sitting on the bleachers by the tennis courts. My body reacted to the sight of Mr. Hartman, heart beating faster, face flushing, and dick growing to half chub. I had to get out of here. The only person who would get hurt was myself.

Putting the car in reverse, I checked for cars and pedestrians before pulling out of the parking space. I had the sudden urge to try saying his name aloud. Whispering, almost as if I were afraid someone would hear me, I mouthed, “Grayson.” I was pleased with how my voice rang with his name. I tried it again, louder this time. “Grayson.”

Terrible. I knew I should stop, but I couldn’t. By the time I pulled out of the park, I had said his name at least a dozen more times. I pulled into the driveway, said his name one last time, then let myself into the house.

“How was it?” Mom asked off-handedly.

She was sitting at the kitchen table with a pen in her mouth working on today’s crossword puzzle in the newspaper. I slid in the chair next to her, propped my head in my hands, and gazed at her until she finally looked up.

“I met someone,” I said simply.

Mom put down her paper and pen and smiled. “Oh? At the tennis courts?”

“Yes,” I said. “His name is Nathan. He goes to Eagle Glade High School. We’re going to play putt-putt in two days. Sixteen across is ‘bandana.’”

She looked back down at her crossword, and I slipped away, heading upstairs to my room.

When I was thirteen, mom and I got into a pretty heated argument, just on this side of a brawl, about whether or not I could have a TV in my bedroom. Now that I’m older, I think she was concerned I’d stay up all night watching inappropriate shows. Little did she know, I had been watching porn on the family computer since I was eleven. She finally relented so long as we didn’t hook it up to the cable box, and I only used it for video games. Two years later, she let me have a computer in my bedroom without even batting an eye.

I took a quick picture of my meager video game collection. I had maybe fifteen games for my two systems. Most games that I liked to play were multi-player, and since my friends owned copies, I wasn’t going to buy versions for myself. I texted the picture to Nathan with the caption, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

What he texted back, I never would have expected. He had a bookshelf stacked full of video game boxes, sorted by game system. On top of and beside the games were several action figures of various video game characters. Some I recognized, but most I didn’t. A second picture came through of another angle of his bedroom, showing his television and several generations of consoles. The caption for this photo was, “This doesn’t include most of my games that are on the computer.”

I honestly didn’t know how to respond. My initial, gut reaction was, “Oh, shit!” but I think if I texted that, I would upset him. Instead, I sent him a picture of a stock photo of some guy with his mouth wide open. Then I texted, “I’d love to come over and play some time. Maybe date no. 2?”

I didn’t get a response for almost an hour. I could picture Nathan pursing his lips and struggling with how to respond. Finally, he sent, “I’d really like that.”

* * *

Mom drove me to the miniature golf course. It took effort not to be embarrassed at having my mom drive me to a date, but considering how poorly the last date went, it was kind of comforting knowing my mom had my back. Besides, Nathan hadn’t texted me at all since his last message, even to respond to whether or not he was coming, which had me worried. If he was a no show, I decided that mom and I would play a round or two together before heading home.

I took a selfie in front of the putt-putt office next to a large cartoon alligator. Along with the picture, I texted Nathan, “I’m alligatorly excited for our date.”

Fifteen minutes later, Nathan showed up. His mom had driven him, too, which made me feel better about my own maternal chaperone situation. I shook hands with Mrs. Scott and introduced her to my mother. They hit it off wonderfully. Nathan stood scowling with his hands in his pockets. His hair was brushed in such a way that his bangs cast a long shadow over his face, making his expression even more brooding and gloomy.

I had already bought our tickets, and we picked out our clubs and headed inside. Our mothers sat at a cheap picnic table out front and chit-chatted.

Nathan went first. As he lined up his putt to make the shot, I said, “I’m glad you made it. I was beginning to worry that you were going to stand me up.”

Nathan scoffed. “I’ve been stood up four times. I would never do that to someone else.” His ball rolled down the green and bounced awkwardly off a rock. He’d have a hard time with his next turn.

“Four times?” I was shocked. No wonder Nathan was so withdrawn. I would have trust issues, too, if I were in his position. As it stood, even with being stood up, he surprisingly had a lot more dating experience than I did. I decided to tell him so, hoping it would help him relax. “This is only the third date I’ve ever been on, so you have me beat.” I knocked my ball harder than I intended, and it soared out of bounds. I ran to go chase it and almost lost it in the pond.

There was an interesting set of emotions on Nathan’s face when I ran back with my ball. He looked baffled, suspicious, and grumpy all in one go. Not wanting to repeat my previous mistake, I gently tapped the ball. It didn’t make it up the gentle slope, not by a long shot.

A guffaw sounded behind me. I turned around, and Nathan had his hands on his knees, his body shaking with his laugh. When he finally stood up, a genuine smile plastered his face, his eyes crinkled shut. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone hit two worse shots!”

Grumbling, I lined myself up for a third shot. The ball at least stayed inside the boundary and made it up the slope, but I would still need at least two more shots to clear the obstacles. I waited until Nathan caught his breath before returning his smile. Nathan’s shoulders and back muscles visibly relaxed.

By the third hole, I had redeemed myself, getting my ball into the hole in par, but Nathan was ahead of me by four strokes. On our way to the fourth hole, Nathan confessed, “This is only my fifth date. I have been stood up four times, and then today is my fifth date.” He was staring straight ahead and wouldn’t look at me. “I wasn’t going to come tonight because I was afraid you wouldn’t be here. I didn’t leave my house until you sent me that picture.”

Catching Nathan’s hand, I forced him to turn to me. “I’m very sorry you’ve been hurt so badly in the past, but I’m not like that, Nathan. I know it will take some time for you to trust me, but I’d like you to.”

A shadow of a smile was Nathan’s only response, but it would have to do.

By the time we finished the round, I felt emotionally drained. While it was true that Nathan had opened up a bit more, he kept reactively slamming on his brakes mid conversation. On the drive home, I began to guiltily wonder if this was a relationship I wanted to commit to pursue. I really only asked him out to begin with because he had stubbornly refused to talk to me. But understanding that he had had such a tough time with previous relationships, did I really want to break his heart so early on?

Mom grinned at me like a madwoman when we got home. Dad asked how our evening was, and Mom was just a rush of emotion. “Nancy is just a _wonderful_ woman! You should have seen how _cute_ Alex and Nathan were on the golf course. Here! I have pictures!”

Oh, God.

Not only did Mom have pictures, she had managed to get a video of that spectacularly bad putt on the first hole with me chasing down the ball. Dad had literal tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. Grumbling, I let myself in my room and laid down on the bed.

And then I smiled. You know what? I had a good time. Yeah, Nathan was hard to deal with, but I think I genuinely liked him. And I had a gut feeling that he wasn’t hiding a secret girlfriend from me.

I texted Nathan, “I had fun tonight. Are we still on for date number two?”

An hour later, I received, “Yes. Thursday?”

Thursday was a gym day. I would need to be home before—

I froze. Wasn’t the whole point of dating someone my age to drive Mr. Hartman _out_ of my head? Here I was, fresh off a date, and I was already scheduling our next get together around my secret crush. My God, I was just as bad as Graham.

Okay, not as bad as Graham, but close. This was definitely cheating territory. Emotional cheating.

“Thursday it is.”

“We’ll have to meet early, because my raid starts at 6.”

I didn’t know what a “raid” was, but I cursed myself when my first thought was, “Good, I’ll be able to make it to the gym.”

What was fucking wrong with me?

My phone chimed again, and Brayden had texted me. “Come over for video games?”

“Sure. When?”

“Now. Need me to pick you up?”

“Yeah.”

Mom looked at me suspiciously when I told her I was going to Brayden’s. She looked ready to say something but visibly forced a smile onto her face. She kissed the top of my head and said, “I love you. Be safe.”

I pulled Mom into a deep hug. “Love you more.”

On the way to Brayden’s, I giddily told him about my date. Guiltily, I skirted the details of where and how Nathan and I had met. I hadn’t told Brayden that I had gone to the tennis courts with his dad, and I didn’t want to. I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t lying to him, but my conscience told me otherwise.

“Am I the only one who’s still single?” Brayden joked. “Dad brought someone home last night, and now you’ve gone on a date—”

My giddy mood plummeted. Jealousy roared to life within me. I realized that the terrible part of my heart that had caged him off really absolutely needed to be checked. I had already been on two separate dates with two separate people since meeting Grayson, but I seethed at the idea of him dating someone? He wasn’t my boyfriend and could never be my boyfriend. I had just decided to see this thing with Nathan through, yet—

We turned into Brayden’s mom’s driveway, and I couldn’t have been more relieved. I think if I had seen Mr. Hartman at that moment, I would have said something I’d never be able to take back.

A strange man was walking down the stairs, and Brayden introduced him to me as his mother’s boyfriend of the past four months. Upstairs, Brayden confessed that there was talk of “the boyfriend” moving in.

“It’s too fast,” Brayden said. At that moment, I realized he hadn’t asked me over to play video games but had in fact needed someone to talk to about this new family development. “The divorce was finalized _exactly _four months ago. Yeah, my parents have been separated for awhile, but it feels like Mom is cheating on Dad.”

I knew how he felt. In my bizarro upside down brain, I also felt like his dad was cheating on me.

Brayden looked at me pleadingly. “What do I do?”

“Have you told your mom how you felt?”

Laughing, Brayden shook his head. “Mom won’t listen to me. She sees nothing wrong with her new relationship.” He sighed deeply. “Maybe I shouldn’t, either. All Mom and Dad did was fight. And Craig seems…nice.”

“Does he make your mom happy?”

A thoughtful quiet passed over the both of us. While Brayden contemplated the complex relationships of adults, I thought more about my time with Nathan. I really did have fun with him. And it was urgent that I pull far back from Mr. Hartman. It was not healthy to obsess over him to the point of feeling absolutely enraged when I heard he went on a date. Besides, who did I think he was cleaning up and working out for? Me? How stupid was I? Clearly, he was going through a lot of emotional drama with his wife, and meeting new people would help him get through the heartache. We each had our own lives, and I needed to immerse myself in mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

The school break was over before I knew it. I continued going to the gym on my regular schedule, but when Brayden tried to skip, I insisted he join us. Having him as a chaperone really helped me check my feelings. I debated on whether I should go back to the tennis courts, and in the end decided it would be fine if I went. Nathan was there with his mom, and additionally it was a public court. There would be plenty of eyes watching. But ultimately the extra practice would really help me until tennis season started at school.

I would be lying if I said I successfully managed to put my terrible feelings behind me. There was an electric connection between the two of us that my brain couldn’t ignore. I also still frequently thought about him while I masturbated, mostly to remembered images of him immediately after showering, that first time we met, with his shirt slung over his shoulder and water dripping off his hair.

Nathan and I continued to see each other, though our dates became much more infrequent once school started back up. He gradually came out of his shell and began to convince himself that I wasn’t going to hurt him on purpose, but there were definitely still several layers of distrust to break through.

Brayden’s mom’s new boyfriend did in fact move in. This new development caused me to see much more of Brayden. He tended to ask to stay over at my house on the weekends, and we avoided trips to either of his parents’ homes. He grew moody and lashed out unexpectedly over small issues. But by early March, he had settled somewhat and even invited me over to a family dinner with his mother and Craig.

Out of the blue, I received a very unexpected invitation from Nathan inviting me on a trip to Myrtle Beach during Spring Break. His mother and my mother had become fast friends, and my mother had actually known about the trip before I did. My parents had already booked a hotel room near the beach while Nathan’s family would be staying at his aunt’s condo. My dad went wild and bought a set of expensive fishing rods. I think our parents were more excited about the trip than we were. I was proud of myself that I barely even thought about how the trip meant I wouldn’t be seeing Mr. Hartman for an entire week.

Once we reached Myrtle Beach, I was very glad that our parents went on their own adventures and left Nathan and me to do our own thing. For the first hour, we strolled the beach, holding hands and talking. Afterwards, we found a small arcade and blew through 20 bucks between the two of us in the blink of an eye. We met up with our parents for dinner, then Nathan headed back to the condo to spend time with his aunt, leaving me to continue to explore the area on my own.

Near where we were staying was a Ferris wheel along with carnival games and other tourist traps. I wore my swim trunks and a low-cut tank top, not sure if I wanted to dare to swim in the ocean so close to dark. My regular visits to the gym had left my body pleasantly toned, and I noticed the looks I was getting from guys and girls alike. Very pleased with myself and feeling quite confident, I lounged against the boardwalk railing in what I hoped was a sexy way.

A pair of girls in bikinis approached me. They were poking each other and giggling all the while, and I smiled at them. One girl handed me a paper flyer and said, “There’s going to be a big party tomorrow night.”

I checked out the flyer. There was a picture of a keg and a DJ. The address was on a street I recognized as close by. I folded the flyer in half and stuffed it in my pocket. “Thanks for the invite. I’ll think about it.”

The second girl boldly put her hand on my chest. “We hope to see you there.” They giggled and were gone.

I didn’t think Nathan would want to go, but I sent him a picture of the flyer anyway. To my surprise, he texted back that he absolutely would go. He had never shown any interest in social events before. In fact, the more people, the more anxious he became. Band seemed to be the only exception, though he told me he liked band so much because he didn’t have to talk to anyone.

A call came through, and I saw Nathan was trying to video chat with me. When I answered, he looked absolutely miserable. “My family is driving me crazy,” he hissed. “I’m not going to be able to keep up with a week of this.” He held the phone out, and I saw he was wearing a pair of pajamas with bright pink flamingos. “We played _board games_,” he seethed, “and there’s _no_ _Wi-Fi_.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Cute P.J.’s,” I answered. “I think pink is your color.”

Nathan looked like if he could choke me through the phone, he would. 

The following night, I met Nathan near the Ferris wheel. Surprising me once more, he placed a light kiss on my lips. Normally, he would never do something with so many people surrounding us. When I mentioned it, Nathan said, “I turned seventeen today, and I think I really want to try new things.”

I froze. “Today is your  _ birthday _ ? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Shrugging, Nathan said, “Birthdays just aren’t that important to me.”

“Well, my birthday is in three weeks, and I demand a party, a cake, and presents.”

We found the party fairly easily, being able to hear the music from nearly a block away. No one was at the door to block our entry, so we walked inside. The house was two stories and had been furnished for the sole purpose of hosting parties. I almost wondered if anyone even lived here. The living room hosted a DJ and a dance floor while the dining room held several tables for beer pong. The kitchen had two refrigerators full of beer cans and wine bottles. As far as I could tell, there were no couches or dining tables. There were no potted plants or framed pictures, but there were cafeteria sized trash cans in each of the rooms.

We made our way into the backyard where there was a pool and a keg. Over a dozen people cheered on a guy attempting a keg stand. The pool was packed to bursting, so Nathan and I headed back inside. The next thing I knew, someone was handing us beer bottles and pushing us onto the dance floor. The living room was perhaps 30 people over comfort capacity, and someone sloshed beer down my leg. One glance at Nathan’s face, and I knew he regretted coming to the party.

I clicked my beer bottle against his and drank deeply. To be honest, this was not my first beer, but it was my first Coors Light. It tasted terrible, but it was drinkable. Nathan sniffed at his, took a sip, and grimaced. I had to lean close to his ear so he was able to hear me, but it was still challenging over the music. “Drink it fast, and it won’t taste so bad.”

We downed our beers, trashed them, then grabbed two more from the fridge. It somehow tasted worse than the first one.

By now, my head was swimming pleasantly, and I was feeling pretty bold. Here we were, miles from home and anyone we knew, at a party where we could truly just let go and relax. A skunky smell filled the air, and I caught sight of someone smoking a joint. I grabbed Nathan by the hand and pulled him into the middle of the dance floor. The bodies around us pushed against us, and I gripped Nathan by his hips, pulling him close to me. He was rigid as a board, even with the two beers, so I kissed him.

Our first kiss was about a month after we had first started dating. Neither of us had much experience with kisses or dating, so we had both been very hesitant, myself especially after my explosively bad previous date experience. It hadn’t been very passionate, and I hated to admit that I didn’t feel that spark that I had felt when I was kissing Graham. Our kisses were more sporadic after that and usually didn’t last long.

I gripped Nathan by the sides of his face and mashed my lips into his. Throwing my arms around his neck, I continued to kiss him as we swayed to the song. I still didn’t feel that spark, but I did feel a hard on begin to develop. I thanked the heavens that I was wearing jeans and not a bathing suit; otherwise my dick would soon be on display for all to see. I slid my hand from his shoulder down to his ass, and Nathan jumped and broke the kiss.

A flush showed on Nathan’s neck, so I kissed it. The song changed, and I adopted the new rhythm, grinding my dick against Nathan’s hip. I pressed my lips back against his mouth and slid my tongue inside. The tongue that met mine was shy and hesitant, but I didn’t relent. My dick was still at half chub a few songs later. I grabbed Nathan by the wrist and pulled him up the stairs. Halfway up, Nathan tugged his hand free from my grip. The expression on his face was one of someone about to step on a rollercoaster: knowing they want to, but also too scared to try. He was panting and trying to catch his breath.

I sat down on the step and motioned for him to sit next to me. Part of the stairwell was blocked by a wall, which cut down on the music somewhat. “Sorry,” I said. “I got carried away.”

Nathan leaned back against the stair. “Sorry, I just… I’m really out of my element here. And now we’re heading upstairs in a stranger’s house? Alex, this isn’t like you.”

And I realized it wasn’t like me. These past few months had really sapped my strength. My shine was gone. And at that moment, I knew that Nathan and I were absolutely not right for each other. I had pushed him into this relationship, then felt too guilty to back out. And now? Today was his  _ fucking birthday _ —and he  _ hadn’t told me!  _ What was I supposed to do with that? How could I be in a relationship where someone doesn’t have the—

What was I doing? For the love of God, I couldn’t break up with him while we were on this Spring Break trip together. What would we do for the rest of the week? Stare awkwardly at each other?

No. I’d have to stay with him, at least one week more.

I recalled how he had laughed when I made such a fool of myself at putt-putt. If I were to be completely honest, had he laughed like that since? Nathan rarely laughed, and I really found myself laughing less and less as well. I was miserable.

Footsteps were on the stairs above us, so we moved down to get out of the way. We headed back into the kitchen, and I grabbed a third beer. My buzz was wearing off, so I drained away beer numbers three and four. Nathan looked at me nervously.

“Alex, maybe we should go home.”

I nodded. “Let’s go to the beach first, though. Mom will kill me if I come back stinking of beer.”

The look on his face clearly said, “You should have thought of that before you drank four,” and I really had to agree.

Back on the beach, Nathan reached out to hold my hand, and I took it. A powerful wave of euphoria washed over me, and I dropped into the sand, pulling Nathan down with me. “What do you feel when you kiss me?” I asked.

He chewed his lip, thinking. “It’s like…I don’t know. Like something’s not quite in reach, like something’s…” He blushed and looked away. To the ocean waves, he mumbled, “Like something’s missing.”

I gently pulled his chin and pressed my lips against his. “I feel the same way,” I said honestly.

Nathan let out a deep breath like he had been holding it in for ages. “Let’s break up after the trip.”

I nodded. “I think our moms will be heartbroken.”

Nathan chuckled. “I think you’re right.”

“Can I keep kissing you until we break up?”

Chewing his lip again, Nathan glanced around. “Yeah, but not here.” He stood up and brushed the sand from his shorts, and I followed suit. Glancing around, he pulled me towards a grove of palm trees and a wooden hut. Once in the shadows, he turned to kiss me.

And you know what’s  _ really _ terrible? In the shadows, you can kiss whoever you want.

And I did. I let my mind  _ go _ , and there was Mr. Hartman in front of me.

I took off my shirt and put Nathan’s hand on my chest. I’m sure he could feel my heart pounding. I pulled him into a deep kiss, but Nathan had the truth of it. Something was  _ missing _ .

Nathan pulled my hand to the front of his pants, and I rubbed. My head was back to Mr. Hartman, and I moaned and dropped to my knees. Nathan gasped as I pushed my nose against his pants, inhaling. In every one of my dreams, Mr. Hartman had a larger dick than mine, so when I pulled Nathan’s shorts to his knees, I was glad the darkness covered the surprised expression on my face. Nathan was…small.

On the plus side, that meant the whole thing fit in my mouth.

My nose bumped against his pelvis, and I did everything with my tongue that I thought Mr. Hartman would like. Nathan threaded his fingers into my hair and held my head still while he fucked my mouth. The boy couldn’t kiss to save his life, but he knew how to get what he wanted with head.

My first blowjob ended with cum coating the back of my throat, and I swallowed. Voices drifted in our direction. I hastily stood up while Nathan pulled his shorts back up. Not a moment too soon did we look presentable as a group of people walked by. We headed back towards the hotels and condos, and I realized something that made my stomach absolutely churn.

My half chub was gone, and I was absolutely flaccid.

The reverse scenario with Graham had just happened with Nathan.

* * *

True to our word, Nathan and I broke up after Spring Break. My mother was absolutely devastated. I told her that she and Mrs. Scott could still be friends, but she sent me a scathing look and said, “It’s just not the same.”

Tennis season had ended right before Spring Break, and now that I was single again, I once more found myself with endless time on my hands. I found I couldn’t bring myself to go to Saturday tennis, unwilling to face Nathan now that we were broken up, and Mr. Hartman mentioned it at the gym the following day.

“Missed you at tennis yesterday.”

I paused at my machine and glanced at him. Where there had been no sparks between Nathan and I, a fucking thunderstorm erupted in my belly when Mr. Hartman so much as glanced in my direction.

Now that I was single, could I start calling him Grayson in my head again?

My belly tightened and tingled. Grayson. Oh, God, yes.

I shot finger guns in Grayson’s direction. “Nathan and I broke up, so I thought it would be awkward.” I continued my pull up bar reps. I could do a lot more than when I had originally started, and my arms were noticeably more toned.

“Sorry to hear that.”

When I finished my reps, I said, “That’s alright. We didn’t really…” I threaded my fingers together. “Mesh.”

Brayden was still on the treadmill and out of earshot, but for some reason, Grayson lowered his voice. “There’s a charity 5k that I’m planning on running in August. Would that be something you’d be interested in training with me for?”

And here I had a choice. I had done a fairly good job of distancing myself from Mr. Hartman, so the best choice here would be to distance myself even further. Why would I need to run a 5k with my friend’s dad? There was no reason. No reason at all.

“Sure. What’s the charity?”

Fuck. Me.

In both senses of the phrase, please.

“Cancer research.” Grayson glanced back at Brayden. “Look, I haven’t told my son yet. You know how he is when you try to get him to exercise. Honestly, before you started coming to the gym with us, he’d rarely make it here once a week. I don’t know how that boy keeps up with sports when he hates to exercise.”

I don’t know why I’m even surprised by my own actions anymore. I pulled my shirt over my head, wiped the sweat from my face, and went back to my pull up reps. Grayson continued, “He seems to be more amenable to working out when you ask him. Would you do that? I don’t want to trick him into doing the 5k, but if that son of mine has no goal over the summer, I know he’ll just sit on the couch eating junk food and playing video games.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll get him to practice with us.”

The smile that lit up Grayson’s face made my heart pound. “Thanks, kid.”

Kid?  _ Kid? _ Well, that deflated my ego faster than a popped balloon. All this energy spent fantasizing about a grown man and he viewed me as little more than a toddler. It really reinforced our relationship of adult man and son’s friend. Looking at things from an outsider’s perspective, the foundation of my relationship with Grayson was really a divorced male using every means possible—me, in this case—to keep a connection alive with his son.

And there was really nothing else to it.

Moping, I wiped down my machine. Forgoing my other weight training exercises, I tucked my shirt in a cubby and started running the track. If I was going to commit to this 5k, it wouldn’t hurt to start now.

Brayden joined me on my second lap. Suspiciously, he said, “What were you and my dad talking about? Any time you and Dad have secret conversations at the gym, it always ends in more exercise for me. Thankfully I was still able to weasel my way out of those stupid Saturday tennis practices. He’s been trying to get me to go to those for  _ years _ . But tennis sucks ass.”

It took physical effort for me to keep my jaw from dropping. Here I had been under the impression that Grayson invited me out to Saturday tennis in order to secretly hook me up with Nathan. But, no, my relationship with Nathan was pure happenstance. Somehow the guilt of breaking up with him lifted from my shoulders.

“We’re going to run a 5k.”

Brayden groaned. “You’ve got to be shitting me. I  _ hate  _ running.”

“But you’re literally running right now.”

“That doesn’t mean I like it. If I could collapse to the ground right now and take a nap, I would.”

I laughed, knowing he wasn’t joking. “The 5k is in August, so training will give us something to do over the summer. Plus, it will keep us in shape for soccer.”

Brayden perked up. “That’s true. If it’s for soccer, I’ll do the 5k, no problem. Hey! I think there’s a summer soccer league in my mom’s neighborhood. Since you signed me up for a 5k, I’ll sign us up for summer soccer.”

* * *

My birthday and the end of the school year passed uneventfully, and just like that, my junior year of high school was over. Mom requested about two dozen college brochures and looked through them with my dad. When they tried to get me to look through the brochures with them, I waved them off. My heart had been set on the Wake Forest soccer program since my freshman year. That’s where most of our high school players ended up anyway. Greensboro was only about a 45-minute drive from Wake Forest.

The summer soccer league Brayden and I joined was not quite what we had in mind. There were only eleven of us, including Brayden and myself, and only one other team to play against. Brayden and I were the youngest players by almost two decades. His mom’s boyfriend, Craig, signed up with us, I think in an effort to get to know Brayden better. All it did was make Brayden moody and terse. His bitter mood caused him to make mistakes, which just made him more upset. However, if we left the team, there would only be nine players, which would seriously inconvenience the summer team.

The 5k trainings went a lot better. There was a trail just over three kilometers surrounding our local park that we used to train. Brayden, Grayson, and I were fairly well paced for the first two kilometers, but after that, Brayden usually had to stop and rest. Grayson and I kept going, doubling back on the trail to run about six-and-a-half total kilometers.

Ever since Grayson had called me “kid,” my demeanor around him had changed. Before, there was always this nagging hope that Grayson might look at me one day and say, “Wow, what a fuckable guy that is right there,” but now my crush had softened into more of how you would feel toward a celebrity: the intense attraction is still there, but the reality of how unattainable that relationship is has set in. It was easier to maintain a conversation with him, at least, without my hormones dulling my brain to the point of incoherent responses.

My favorite parts of the 5k training were after Brayden had stopped to catch his breath, and Grayson and I continued to jog. Most of the time we ran in companionable silence, but occasionally we would talk baseball or NASCAR. I really envied the deep personal conversation we had right after the fiasco with Graham. I would give anything to go back and capture that moment and hold onto it forever.

Three weeks before the 5k run, Brayden sprained his ankle at soccer practice, badly enough that the doctor advised he cease all running for at least two weeks and  _ strongly  _ advised against running the 5k. True to his dad’s prediction, Brayden spent the rest of his summer vacation lounging on the couch playing video games and eating junk food.

Grayson and I continued training for the 5k, and I once more found myself alone with the man I had been crushing on for almost a year.

The week before the 5k was particularly hot, and Grayson and I removed our shirts before our run. Once more I lost myself in how stunningly attractive he was. His time at the gym had led to a full set of abs, and his dark body hair had been trimmed short. It took a great deal of physical effort for me to not “accidentally” brush my hands against his chest.

I looked down at my own body. I had grown a lot over the past few years since hitting puberty (though I had very little hair to show for my age—even my chin only grew in patchy wisps). Not only had I grown in muscle, but I had grown in height as well. I was now taller than my dad and almost as tall as Grayson. Mom said I might peak soon, but Dad said he didn’t stop growing until he was 20.

As we ran, I noticed I kept moving closer to Grayson than normal. My heart pounded as I couldn’t keep my eyes off his body. I imagined myself running my hands down his abdomen and into his pants. Suddenly, my daydream took off, and I thought about pulling down his pants. The outline of his cock would be pressed against his underwear, and I’d stroke it. 

“—hadn’t seemed like yourself.”

I snapped out of my daydream. Once more, I had found myself in dangerous territory but also found myself not caring. My only regret was that now my erection was pushing uncomfortably against my shorts.

“What?”

“I said, I know this is out of the blue, but I’m glad you broke up with Nathan. While you two were together, you hadn’t seemed like yourself.”

“Oh.”

An awkward silence settled over us, and Grayson said, “Sorry if that was out of line.”

I smiled, remembering the last “out of line” conversation we had had where I told him all about my first hand job in the back of Graham’s car. “It’s fine,” I replied. “He was always so moody that I let myself be pulled down with him. I kind of felt bad for the guy.”

Grayson turned his blue eyes on me, and I almost tripped. “Careful with staying with someone out of pity or remorse. I stayed with my ex-wife for almost sixteen years out of guilt.”

Knowing he was talking about Mrs. Hartman, I didn’t know what to say. She was Brayden’s mom, but did I owe her anything to not hear Grayson’s side of the story?

“Guilt?” I probed.

Another long stare from Grayson. He was considering how much information to divulge with me, weighing his personal troubles against unloading them on me. Finally, he sighed. “I got my ex-wife pregnant when she was sixteen and I was fifteen.”

Holy shit.

My brain was rapidly doing math. Taking pregnancy into account, that meant Grayson was probably only thirty-three years old whereas my dad was in his forties. That wasn’t nearly as creepy as crushing on someone “as old as my dad.” In fact, a fifteen- to sixteen-year age gap could even be considered  _ normal. _

Grayson continued, “I felt bad that I had gotten her pregnant when we were both so young so I got our parents’ permission to get married. We were so, so young… The only thing I regret is staying in a marriage out of obligation instead of love.”

Brayden must have known this, but he had never alluded to it, even during the divorce. I imagined what it must have been like getting married at my age. Considering my past relationships had not gone well, marriage was absolutely out of the question. My stomach twisted at the idea of staying with Nathan out of guilt until we were old and gray.

It was almost as if Grayson knew exactly where my thoughts had run. “So imagine marrying the first person you had sex with.”

I don’t know what made me say it, but I responded, “I haven’t had sex yet.”

“Oh.” A goofy grin spread across his face. “I guess I was a lot more promiscuous than you. Even though I was married with a child, I was quite, ah, insatiable when I was your age. Monica’s parents forbid us from living with each other, and we also went to separate colleges, so even though we were married, we had an open relationship, until Brayden was about six years old.” The smile quickly disappeared into a frown. “You must think I’m a right ass.”

But my thoughts had already galloped away to the idea of Grayson sleeping with people, and the erection was back. How I wanted to scream, “Have sex with  _ me _ !” and throw myself at him.

Instead, the mix of heat and blood rushing to my cock caused me to stumble and fall forward into a faint.

When I came to, I could hear the sound of a truck engine and an air conditioner blasting. A plastic seatbelt dug into my back, and I shifted with a moan. Grayson was there immediately with a Gatorade and a very concerned look on his face. He helped me sit up and slowly sip the Gatorade. Our shirts were still off, and I almost fainted again thinking about how close our bare chests were. Taking complete advantage of the situation, I rested my forehead against his chest.

Fuck.

His chest was exactly as I had imagined. Smooth, toned, and perfect. A moan escaped my lips. Thankfully, Grayson took it as another wave of heatstroke instead of pure lust and helped me sip some more Gatorade.

“Feeling better?”

His voice was right next to my ear, and I shifted closer once more. Closing my eyes, I rested my head back on his chest. I took long, deep breaths, inhaling his scent with greed. God, I wanted to kiss him so bad. I had to restrain myself from wrapping my legs around his hips and pulling him on top of me. I knew immediately that when I got home, I would be continuing this scenario as I masturbated.

“Let’s get you home.” 

True to my word, the minute I got home, my clothes were off, and I was fisting my dick. I picked up right where I had left off, my legs wrapped around his hips and pulling him close to me. In my head, our clothes magically disappeared and our cocks were rubbing against each other. I imagined Grayson sliding down my body and slipping my cock in his mouth. In real life, I arched against my hand, jerking as fast as I could.

And then I stopped. I remembered confessing my virginity to him. If there was one person in this world who I wanted to take my virginity, it was Grayson. I had lotion on my dresser, and I squirted some on my index finger. I had never tried to finger myself before, but it didn’t seem like it would be so bad if I pretended it was Grayson.

Experimentally, slowly, I pushed my finger against my anus. I didn’t expect the resistance my finger met. I pushed some more, and my finger slid in up to the first knuckle. Not knowing what to expect, I had kind of thought I’d be met with mind-blowing fireworks and an immediate orgasm. It was kind of a disappointment that really all it felt like was a finger up my ass.

I don’t know why I really expected anything else, actually.

I continued pushing and was a little concerned about how much resistance I was met with. Trying to relax, I took deep breaths and rolled my shoulders. How was a dick supposed to fit up there when my finger was having so much trouble?

Slowly, I continued working my finger into my ass, pulling out a little, then pushing back in. So far, I still didn’t see what the big fuss was, but maybe it was different if someone else was doing it. Also, the angle was uncomfortable, and I didn’t really know how to fix that.

After what felt like half an hour, I had finally worked my finger all the way into my asshole. That’s when I realized that I usually jerk off with my right hand, but that hand was currently occupied with other activities. I would have to use my left hand to jerk off while simultaneously pumping my right finger in and out of my body.

This rhythm would take some getting used to.

With eyes closed, I tried to imagine that my finger was Grayson’s. I pictured him still between my legs, one finger in my ass and the other hand pumping my dick. I thought of him as he was today, shirtless and sweaty from the heat. I realized that when he talked, he usually looked straight ahead, but today he kept flashing me those blue, blue eyes. The rhythm was still awkward, but as I imagined Grayson’s face between my legs, a warm knot formed in my belly. My finger was sliding in and out of myself with a little more ease, and my left hand was doing its best job. As my body heated up, I began to have a pleasant feeling of fullness.

_ Oh, there it is. _ I started to understand why people liked ass play. It still wasn’t as mind-blowing as I had assumed it would be, but maybe I’d warm up to it.

It was taking too long for me to cum, so I gave up on fingering myself and finished myself off. Maybe not the best masturbation session I’ve ever had, but I tried something new, and I learned something about myself.

I also wanted, more than ever before, to fuck Mr. Hartman.

* * *

The remainder of the summer slipped by much more quickly than I would have liked. After my fainting incident at the park, Mr. Hartman suggested we do laps inside at the gym instead of outside in the summer heat. Considering he had carried me nearly two kilometers through the park and to his car, I relented. Unfortunately, that meant no more private time between us.

The 5k went well. Having never ran a race before, I didn’t know what to do with my time, but Mr. Hartman said his time had improved from running the 5k from the summer before. After the race, he shook my hand and suggested we run again next summer.

Great, I went from being called “kid” to someone you shake hands with. It felt like I kept getting demoted.

School started, and I was busy with classes and soccer. I studied for the SAT and ACT and prepared my college application. My parents insisted that I apply to more than just Wake Forest, so I sent out an application to four other universities in the southeast. Just in case, I also applied to smaller community colleges in my area as well.

Soccer season ended right before Christmas vacation with a bang when Mrs. Hartman threw her annual party for the team. Her boyfriend was there, but I noticed Brayden had warmed up to him. As the party was winding down, Brayden and I were approached by two other seniors on the team, Declan and Jaden. 

“My brother’s having a party at his apartment,” Declan told us. I remembered his brother was two years older but not much else. “You should come. It’ll be dope.”

My parents were helping Mrs. Hartman with the soccer party, and when I told them I wanted to head out with my teammates, Mom looked worried. I think Moms have a sixth sense about things like parties that makes them immediately tense up. Finally, she nodded, and made me promise to be home before two AM. I gave her a kiss and an “I love you” and was out the door.

Declan drove us to the party. His brother did not, in fact, live in an apartment but lived at a frat house for the local community college. When we parked, the party was in full swing. Drunk college students stumbled through the parking lot, and one girl was throwing up near the door as we approached. When we opened the door, the music’s bass hit me hard, my chest vibrating with the intensity.

I left my friends and headed toward a Styrofoam cooler. I grabbed a Natural Light and found I liked that even less than Coors Light. As I drank down the beer, something inside me turned. I remembered the last party I had gone to, with Nathan, and how poorly that had turned out, and decided that this party would go much better. Someone would be sucking  _ my  _ dick tonight. I downed a second beer quicker than the first one and headed over to the dance floor.

Three girls wearing crop tops and the shortest shorts I’ve ever seen were dancing fairly close to one another and allowed me to step between them. One of the girls with a long brown braid laid her hands gently on my hips and pushed against me. I leaned down and kissed her. She ran her hand up my chest and kissed back. Even though I was gay, there was more emotion in that kiss than there had ever been with Nathan.

Shaking thoughts of my ex-boyfriend out of my head, I continued to dance with the three girls and eventually lost my shirt. The girl with short black braids left for a few minutes and brought back four Jell-O shots. I slurped mine down eagerly. The third girl had thick blonde hair and a blue shirt. From behind, she slid her hands down my chest and into my pants. I rocked back against her and let her go to town. By this point, she was very drunk and was doing a fairly poor job of things. The waistband of my underwear seemed to give her too much of a struggle, and she finally gave up trying to get her hands on my junk. One of her friends pulled her off me, apologizing, but I just laughed.

I liked that Jell-O shot, so I went off to find more. Brayden caught my arm as I slurped down my third one. “Hey, Alex, you’d better pace yourself. Those things are strong.”

My head was very foggy by this point, and I could barely catch one thought. I allowed Brayden to lead me over to a couch to sit down. The girl with the long braid was sitting next to me, but she was kissing another guy. To be honest, I probably dodged a herpes bullet there.

Declan walked over to the couch, his brother right behind him. I couldn’t remember his brother’s name. Zeke? No, that wasn’t even close. Did he play football, or was that someone else?

Declan introduced his brother as Isaiah. Where the fuck had “Zeke” come from? No clue. I barely remembered Isaiah from high school, but I do remember the rumor of him sleeping with another boy. I caught Isaiah’s eye and was pleased to see how he was staring at me. I sent him a smirk that I hoped conveyed that I was interested, too.

The alcohol hit me hard at that moment and gave me confidence. My attempt to gracefully stand up from the couch caused me to stumble but once I regained my balance, I said, “Isaiah, I’d love it if you showed me the rest of the place.”

A predatory grin lit up Isaiah’s face and he nodded. As I followed him around, I took in the sight of the man I was attempting to seduce. He was fairly tall but shorter than me and not nearly as muscular. He wore trendy clothes and had a fade with a star design.

In a moment of sudden clarity, I began to have doubts. What was I doing? Is this really what I wanted?

Fuck it. I was seventeen and still hadn’t slept with anyone. I thought back to my conversation with Grayson and recalled how he said he was already a father by my age. Over half my class had slept with someone—that I knew of, so probably even more than that. Even Brayden had lost his virginity last month.

The sappy, romantic part of my brain spoke up with a rose-colored image of me saving myself for Grayson, but I shoved that thought away as quickly as it arrived. I had to deal with the fact that I would  _ never sleep with Grayson. _

I froze. That really was reality, wasn’t it? As much as I could pine and lust and hope, there was no way Mr. Hartman would ever see me as more than a kid. Hadn’t he called me a kid, anyway? And hadn’t he been surprised I hadn’t lost my virginity? Well, no more. As a seventeen-year-old male, I had the right to get fucked.

Isaiah glanced back and noticed I had stalled. He was headed towards the stairs, and I could tell he thought he read the situation wrong. I pretended to have something in my eye then caught back up, smiling. I slid my hand in his back pocket and leaned close to his ear to whisper, “So, do you have a room we can go to, or what?”

Grinning, Isaiah pointed upstairs. I followed him until we reached a very messy dorm-style room. I locked the door behind us, and wasting no time, I kicked off my shoes. In seconds, Isaiah had me pinned against the door and was kissing me. He bit my lower lip, and I gasped. Having lost my shirt at some point earlier, his hands easily found my nipples and rubbed at them, and I was surprised by how much I enjoyed that sensation. I kissed his neck until he pulled away to suck at my nipples.

Okay, I  _ really _ liked that.

Arching against the door, I moaned and pushed my chest towards Isaiah’s mouth. My mind went blank. The fire alarm could have gone off at that moment, and I wouldn’t have been able to comprehend it. Fingers fumbled at my pants button, and I thrust my hips upwards towards the sensation. Lips were back up on mine, and I pressed my tongue into Isaiah’s mouth. More noises escaped me as my pants were finally unzipped.

“You’re quite the noisy one, aren’t you?” I bit my lower lip, embarrassed, but Isaiah whispered directly in my ear, “Those noises are making me so hard.” He pressed my hand on his pants to show me what he meant, and I groaned again.

Isaiah grabbed my hand and pushed me towards the bed. Without being zipped or buttoned, my pants dropped, and I almost tripped. Hardly pausing, I shoved them off and threw myself backward onto the bed. A hungry gleam lit Isaiah’s eye, and then his mouth was on me.

There are no words to describe how  _ fucking incredible _ a mouth feels on your cock. Hands pulled at my underwear, and I lifted my hips eagerly to get them off. Then the mouth was back. I arched upwards and panted. My hands gripped the sides of Isaiah’s head as I thrust into his mouth. He gagged and pulled back.

“Dude, you’re too big for me to do that.”

I was suddenly aware that my eyes were squeezed shut. Opening them, I was noticed that Isaiah still had his clothes on. Sitting up, I pulled his shirt up over his head. Then I wrapped my arms around his torso and pulled him down on top of me. We kissed again, our tongues pushing against each other. Isaiah wrapped his hand around my dick, and once more I found myself thrusting with no self-control.

“Slow down,” Isaiah whispered. “I want to enjoy this.”

I pushed him off me, and for a moment, Isaiah looked worried and confused. My hands found the button on his pants, and within seconds, I had them off and around his ankles, underwear quickly following suit. I slid onto my knees and took a second to appreciate the cock before me. His dick was shorter than mine, though thicker, and he was uncircumcised. My own dick twitched in excitement, and without wasting any more time, I shoved the cock as far into my mouth as it would go.

Turns out that’s not very far. Not that I wouldn’t be happy to keep practicing until I could take all of it.

Mindful of Isaiah’s earlier “slow down,” I lazily dragged my mouth back up the shaft. The foreskin followed pleasantly with my lips, and I suddenly found myself wondering if Grayson were circumcised or not. Mentally I kicked myself. Why was I thinking about other (unobtainable) dicks when I had a huge piece of meat right in front of me?

Since I couldn’t fit the entire cock in my mouth, I used my right hand to fist the rest of the shaft. With my left hand, I stroked myself. Bobbing my head, I tried to keep a steady rhythm, but since this was my second ever blow job, I was hyper aware of my teeth. I let up on the bobbing and focused more on using my hand.

After several minutes, Isaiah tapped me on the head. “Lie back down on the bed,” he told me.

Isaiah could take my dick much farther into his mouth than I could take his. He ran his tongue up and down my shaft as he bobbed his head. One of his hands played with my balls, and I had to resist once more shoving myself down his throat. He looked up at me, and my breath hitched in my throat.

His voice was deep and raspy when he asked, “How far do you want to go?”

Here was the moment. Would I lose my virginity here and now? Tonight, at some sleezy frat party with someone whose name I couldn’t remember?

Fuck. Yes.

I was already too far gone, anyway. My whole body was on fire, and I craved more of it.

“Yes,” I responded.

Then my brain cleared, and my mouth tried to form more words, but Isaiah was way ahead of me. “Are you a top or a bottom?” he asked.

“Oh.” My mouth dried up, and I once more couldn’t form sentences. “I’ve never, ah—”

Isaiah put his mouth back on my cock to save me some embarrassment. He placed light kisses on my balls and said, “Just let me know if I go too far, then. We’ll stop whenever you want.”

I nodded and thrust my hips upward. I bent my legs so he’d have better access.

From that first time I had fingered myself, I continued to do so fairly regularly when I masturbated. My original musings about whether or not it felt better if someone else did it were confirmed when his first finger sent lightning down my spine. He must have grabbed lube at some point because the finger slid in and out with ease. I moaned and thrashed, bucking myself against his finger.

A second finger attempted to slide in beside the first. I had never tried more than one, so I immediately stilled my hips.

“You okay?” Isaiah asked.

I realized I was holding my breath. I let it out and said, “It’s fine. Just…go slowly.”

He nodded. There was a bit of an uncomfortable pinching sensation, but once the fingertip was in, the rest of the finger slid in without much resistance. He held his hand there until I started moving again, then he slowly started fingering me once more. His other hand alternated between rubbing my balls and stroking my shaft, and his mouth never stopped sucking and licking.

I felt like I would cum with just his fingers and mouth, so I quickly stopped him. Isaiah seemed concerned that he had hurt me, but I told him, “I just need a break. I’m about to cum.”

Isaiah laid on the bed next to me and pulled me flush against his body. We kissed deeply, our tongues sliding against each other. His hands moved along my body, seeming to love the feel of my muscles. Once I had calmed down, Isaiah was back between my legs.

When a wet tongue pushed against my asshole, I screamed in delight. Isaiah alternated between his two fingers and his tongue, and I writhed against him. My hands fisted the bedsheets and I thrashed as I moaned.

Honestly, I had no idea I could be so noisy. Whenever I masturbated, I was conscious of being quiet so my parents didn’t hear. Then I remembered there was a party downstairs, and I slapped my hand over my mouth.

There was a squelching sound as Isaiah squeezed more lube onto his fingers. A third finger was now on its way into my ass. It took a long time, but the third finger finally pushed its way inside. It was very uncomfortable, and at first, I doubted I would ever be able to get used to the sensation. Finally, I felt relaxed enough for Isaiah to start moving his fingers in and out. He started very slowly, letting me get accustomed to every centimeter.

When he pulled his fingers out, he coated his dick in lube. My stomach tensed. This was it. This was the moment.

Isaiah turned his dark brown eyes on me and said, “I’m going to be honest, but I don’t know if my dick will go in the first time. You may have noticed I’m fairly…large.”

Oh, why, yes, I did notice. But thank you for the reminder.

I pressed my three fingers together and looked at them then at Isaiah’s dick. If I had such trouble accepting three fingers, how would that fat cock ever fit in my ass?

Well, nothing better than to try.

Isaiah had me get on my hands and knees, and he positioned himself behind me. When he pushed the tip against my entrance, discomfort rocked through me…but it wasn’t enough to make me ask him to stop. Isaiah kept slowly pushing. There was one moment where it was painful enough that I almost asked him to stop, but then the tip was through the ring of muscle, and honestly it wasn’t that bad afterwards. I focused on my breathing and tried to relax. When Isaiah was partially in, he rested, letting me adjust, then pulled back out, just before the tip, then partially back in, continuing the mini-thrusts. Eventually, I got used to the rhythm and began to push back once the discomfort began to dissipate.

Before I knew it, Isaiah was all the way inside. He pushed at me, letting his hips rest on my ass, and I moaned.

“That feels…so fucking  _ good _ …”

Isaiah’s thrusts were slow but deep. His hands gripped my sides as he pumped. “Alex, I’m not going to lie; I won’t last long. We had entirely too much foreplay and build-up.”

I slammed my hips backwards, causing Isaiah to gasp and almost lose his grip. “Then fuck me like you mean it,” I growled throatily.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he answered, returning to his moderate pace.

I rolled my hips backwards in response, quickening the pace. Using my right hand to jerk myself off, I mentally added one handed push-ups to my list of gym workouts.

The gym…

An image of Grayson doing bench presses popped in my mind. How in the world any one human being could be so fucking perfect was beyond me. If only he were the one taking me up the ass…

And in an instant, my mind distorted the situation, and Grayson  _ was  _ fucking me from behind. I barely lasted another second, crying out as I came.

“Shit,” I heard Isaiah whisper from behind me. “Can I cum inside you?”

I was still trying to catch my breath but managed to gasp, “Yes,” and thrust my hips backwards. Without my moans, the sounds of Isaiah slapping against me filled the room. He gripped my hips and pulled back on them in time to his thrusts. With a deep grunt, his thrusts slowed, and he slowly pulled out. Isaiah collapsed beside me on the bed, breathing heavily. I rolled over on my back and grinned at the ceiling.

That was so fucking incredible. If I could get fucked like that every day for the rest of my life, I couldn’t be happier. I nudged Isaiah with my foot, and he turned his head toward me. “Not saying we should be boyfriends, but I am down to fuck again at any time.”

Isaiah had a very nice smile. “That was some of the best sex I’ve every had.” He put his finger on my mouth. “We’re going to have to work on those blow jobs, though.”

I returned the smile. “I will  _ gladly _ work on my blow jobs. Let me find my phone…”

My clothes were scattered all over the room, so I gathered them up and put them on the bed. I rummaged in my pocket for my phone and handed it over to Isaiah. He plugged in his number while I got dressed, though I’d have to find wherever I left my shirt downstairs. When he handed my phone back, I stared at the clock in disbelief.

“Shit, it’s late. I’ve got to go. My mom wants me to be back home by two.”

“All right, text me, so I have your number.”

Waving felt too informal, but a kiss felt too personal. And I sure as fuck wasn’t going to go in for a handshake. Instead, I did what any sane person would do. I pulled down my pants once more, took a picture of my dick, and texted it to him. “Use that as the picture for whenever I call.”

Isaiah laughed. “Sorry, but no. But feel free to send me as many dick pics as you’d like.”

“Right back at you.”

Once back downstairs, I caught up with Brayden, Declan, and Jaden. The party had started to cool off, and they were sitting on the couch waiting for me, Brayden handing me my shirt as I met up with them. Apparently, Jaden had also hooked up at the party, but he had finished nearly an hour ago. Declan refused to let me talk about my experience. “I don’t  _ care _ what you and my brother were doing, and I  _ never want to know _ .”

Brayden couldn’t stop grinning at me and elbowing me as we walked to the car. “Welcome to the club, bro!”

“Stop it!” Declan snapped. “I said I don’t want to hear about it.” He stuck his fingers in his ears and called out, “La, la, la, as far as I care, you and my brother just sat and talked. In fact, you’ve never even  _ met  _ my brother.”

I texted my mom and let her know I was safely on my way home. By then, the alcohol had cleared my system, so I wouldn’t feel guilty about going home drunk. I didn’t have to worry about it, though, because Mom was asleep when I got home. I took a quick shower and fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The following day was Saturday, for which I was thankful when I woke up incredibly sore. My ass and lower back ached. If it weren’t for that deep ache, I might have thought the previous evening was all one incredible dream. It was nearly noon before I woke up, and it took effort to limp down the stairs for lunch. Unfortunately, Mom noticed my tense movements and asked about it. I quickly made up a story about falling off a chair. Luckily, she bought it and didn’t ask any further questions.

While I ate peanut butter and banana sandwiches, a text came through. I glanced at it and nearly slammed my phone down on the table so my poor mother wouldn’t have a heart attack. It read, “Next time I cum in your ass, I’m taking a picture. I want to remember that shit.”

_ Next time. _

My heart raced. A small voice in my head had been trying to psych myself out by suggesting that a college student wouldn’t want to continue to fuck a high school kid, but I must have done something right. I purposely pulled my thoughts away from what almost became a very vivid daydream before I wound up with an erection at the kitchen table.

Another text. “How’s your ass, btw?”

“Hurts like someone stuck their dick in it,” I texted back.

After I finished lunch, Mom announced that she was going grocery shopping. I volunteered to go with her, hoping the short walk around the store would help my muscles loosen up a little bit. I debated on whether or not I should go to the gym tonight, but how could I miss an opportunity to gaze upon His Sexiness Himself, Grayson? Besides, usually Brayden flaked on Saturdays, so I’d have his dad all to myself.

Wonderfully, the Universe aligned for me, and Brayden did indeed flake. I cut my cardio time down to 15 minutes due to the soreness and spent the rest of my time at the free weights. Grayson joined me after a while, sitting nearby and striking up a conversation. Could life be any better?

“Are you feeling okay? You looked like you were limping, and you never do less than 30 minutes on the treadmill.”

Of course Grayson noticed. Why wouldn’t he notice? And then ask about it. What was I supposed to tell him? “Oh, you know, I just had my ass blasted last night.”

You know what? Why the fuck not? I told him about my handy. Why not tell him about losing the ol’ V-card?

I held up three fingers and grinned like the moron that I am. “Three guesses.” I decided that whatever his third guess was, I’d just agree with it.

He stared at me and pondered, and I was once again struck by how perfect his entire face was. If he was a Hollywood movie star, I wouldn’t have been surprised in the least. He had tried a new hairstyle the previous month but had given up on it, thank God, and was now back to his regular ’do. And have I mentioned how much I go crazy for a man with dark hair and blue eyes? Gael Garcia Bernal, Chris Evans, Zac Efron, Paul Walker (may that beautiful man rest in peace). Fucking Frodo from  _ Lord of the Rings _ .

“Let’s see… From the way you were walking, the muscle fatigue is in the lower back area…”

Oh, shit, he was taking this seriously. Remind me never to gamble with him.

“Not really a limp, and you haven’t cried out in pain, so it’s not a pulled muscle, but more of a—”

His lips clamped shut and he stared at me for another long moment, struggling with what to say and how to say it. Finally, he went with, “Good for you, I think. First time?”

I nodded and was surprised when I blushed as deeply as I did. I went back to doing my bicep curls, but I couldn’t keep the goofy grin off my face.

“Well? How was it?”

I was so surprised, I almost dropped my weight. My jaw dropped, but when I turned to look at Grayson, I couldn’t read his expression. I thought I saw the hint of a smirk playing about his lips, but I might have imagined it. Well, two could play this game. “Honesty is the best policy” and all that.

“It felt mind-blowingly incredible. Best orgasm I’ve ever had. Ten out of ten, would definitely have sex again.”

Surprisingly, Grayson laughed. “Good for you, kid.”

Kid?  _ Kid? _ I just told him about having sex for the first time, yet he still calls me  _ kid? _

“I’m told the tenderness goes away after a couple days, but if it doesn’t, or if something  _ really  _ starts to hurt, you should see a doctor.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa.  _ Who  _ told you this? Like, a friend, or like…someone you fucked? Because if you’re over here telling me that you fuck men, then  _ please use my hole. _

Have I mentioned that I’m terrible? I decided to fish for more. “So you’re told. So you’ve never…” I made an okay sign with my left hand and pushed my right index finger into the hole. “Had someone up your ass?”

“Nope. But I’ve been up plenty of asses, so again…I’ve been told.”

_ Oh. My. God. _ I don’t know where my self-control came from, but I actually managed to bite back a moan. Please, I am begging you— _ use my hole! _

Completely ruining the moment, another gym member chose to use the equipment within earshot of us. But you could bet that I would be restarting this conversation at another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 20,000 words in, and I realize I’ve been switching spellings for Brayden (sometimes spelling it as Braydon), so that was fun to go back and fix.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been commenting and leaving kudos! <3
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


	4. Chapter 4

It was nearly two weeks before I was able to see Isaiah again. Even though I had my driver’s license and was actually a fairly good driver, Mom rarely let me use her car for more than an hour at a time. Dad drove a company car, and the insurance was very strict about who could drive it, so that was also out of the question. So in order for Isaiah and I to fuck, he’d have to drive out to my house to pick up his booty call. I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded; it was just moderately inconvenient.

In the meantime, I had participated in more sexting than I ever had before. We even put ourselves on video call so we could watch each other masturbate, but it really wasn’t the same. So when my parents told me they were going on a short, weekend vacation, I jumped on the chance. I think Isaiah pulled into the driveway barely three minutes after my parents left.

The minute Isaiah was inside, I practically ran to my bedroom. Even though no one else was home, some part of me was still paranoid enough to close and lock the door. By the time I turned around, Isaiah was already halfway undressed and started pulling at my clothes. We kissed roughly, still trying to get undressed without breaking contact.

Isaiah pushed me back onto the bed, and I groaned. I had been looking forward to taking as much dick down my throat as I could, but I succumbed to whatever Isaiah had planned. I was sure it would be just as good.

And when I felt that tongue on my ass, I was definitely okay with the plan.

Isaiah continued to lick my asshole, and I almost came just from that. I thought he would go straight to fucking me, but when he stopped and started looking around, I was suddenly worried. Had I done something wrong?

“One second…” He wiped haphazardly at his mouth before spotting something by our clothes pile. Grinning, he snatched up the backpack I hadn’t noticed he brought with him. From within it, he drew a very slim silver tube and a bottle of lube. He poured lube on the silver thing then was back over to me. “I bought you a present,” he said before pushing the tube against my entrance. It slid in a lot more easily than his fingers had, and I squirmed pleasantly against the sensation.

I heard a sound. When I opened my eyes, I saw Isaiah standing over me, eyes half lidded and glazed over, stroking himself in time with the tube sliding in and out of me. “Not fair,” I whined. “You get to touch your dick all the time, but _I _want to touch it.”

Smirking, Isaiah murmured, “You really are something else, you know that?” He pulled the tube back out of me and stood at the edge of the bed. Then he directed me to get on my hands and knees facing him. I eagerly took his dick in my hand and ran my tongue all over its length. As I did so, Isaiah leaned forward over my body and slid the silver rod back in my ass. Unable to control my moans, I arched back against it, then took as much of Isaiah’s dick into my mouth as I could. It quickly hit the back of my throat, and no matter how much I tried to relax, it would go no farther. It was frustrating, but maybe only half of it was in my mouth. I acceded to using my hand on the part that wouldn’t fit.

Within a couple minutes, I was at my limit again. Reluctantly letting Isaiah fall from my mouth I told him, “I am seriously about to cum.”

Being so close to Isaiah, I could feel his chest rumble as he chuckled. “Luckily we’ve got the whole weekend ahead of us.” He hadn’t stopped pumping my ass with the metal rod until that moment. He used both of his hands to twist something at the end of it, then—

I arched back on the vibrations, slamming myself against it over and over. My mouth made noises I never knew it could make, and I was too preoccupied with my own pleasure to go back to sucking Isaiah. My eyes were closed tightly, and I could feel my orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Fuck!” I shouted. Cum shot from my dick onto the sheets, and I collapsed onto my side. When I finally caught my breath, I noticed Isaiah still hovering over me, just watching and leisurely jerking himself off.

“Glad you liked it,” he said.

I nodded. “You said it was a gift for me? Can I keep it?”

His hand stroked faster. “Oh, yes.” He kept his eyes locked on me. “Alex, there is just something about a tall, muscular man moaning in ecstasy as he takes things up the ass… You are a national treasure, you know that?”

Well, I’ll be damned. That’s a much better moniker than “kid.”

I rolled over on my back and motioned for Isaiah to come closer. While he stroked himself I gently sucked at his balls. It was an interesting sensation. When I sucked at one, the testicle slowly pulled in my mouth, filling it. I swirled my tongue around, then pushed it back out and took the other one in my mouth.

“Run your hands on your body,” Isaiah urged. “Touch yourself for me.”

Eagerly, I complied. Having worked hard at gaining muscle, I actually enjoyed running my hands on my chest and abs.

But then and there was where my body betrayed me once more. It’s no secret that Grayson is the object of my masturbation fantasies over 90% of the time, and usually when I ran my hands over my body, I started to imagine it was Grayson’s body I was touching. So here I was giving oral sex but thinking about another man. But knowing it was terrible and stopping were two very different things. Suddenly I wasn’t licking Isaiah’s balls but Grayson’s. It would take at least another an hour for me to be able to get hard again, but that didn’t stop the rest of my body from responding to the fantasy. Heat washed through my stomach as I continued to run my hands on my chest and torso, and I writhed against the sheets.

With a grunt, Isaiah came, most of it splashing on my chest. He walked back over to his backpack and pulled out something else. I sat up and watched him curiously. This looked rubber instead of metal and it was an odd shape, almost like a lightbulb…

_Oh._ When I realized it was a butt plug, my ass clenched, and a delighted shiver raced up my spine.

“Another gift for me?” My voice was throaty, almost like a purr.

Isaiah kissed me ferociously and pushed me backwards onto the bed. “You’re so unbelievably hot,” he whispered in my ear. We kissed again, slower this time. I found I was really enjoying these compliments Isaiah was showering on me. Never before had someone been so attentive and passionate towards me, and I was quickly becoming addicted.

Lube was squirted onto the butt plug which was then slowly inserted in me. The tip was easier to accommodate than the fingers had been, but the bulbous base met some resistance. I realized I was clenched and tense and willed myself to relax. It helped some, but it still took an agonizingly long time before the whole thing was inside.

Surprisingly, once it was all the way in, Isaiah didn’t push on it or play with it. Instead, he grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around us. He laid his head in the crook of my arm and said, “And now we nap.”

“Wait a fucking minute,” I growled. I pushed against him and demanded, “We just spent the last ten minutes putting a butt plug up my ass, and now you’re saying we go to sleep? What the fuck?”

Pointing to my flaccid penis, Isaiah said, “It’s going to take me some time before I’m ready to fuck again, and I’m sure it’s the same for you. Your ass was so tight last time that it took us nearly an hour before I could fuck you, and by then, we were already at our limit. The plug should save us some time when we’re ready to go again.”

Huh. I guess that made sense. But he wasn’t the one with a rubber sex toy in his ass. Whenever I shifted, the lube caused it to move around. While it wasn’t painful, it was uncomfortable, I think mostly because the experience was so new.

In seconds, Isaiah’s breathing lengthened, and I realized he was already almost asleep. I smiled. His head was still nuzzled in the crook of my arm, the blanket wrapped around us. After awhile, I dozed off, too.

Several hours later, I awoke to an unpleasant tingling in my arm where Isaiah’s head had caused it to fall asleep. I wish they gave out Olympic medals for removing an asleep limb out from under someone without waking them up. I wouldn’t have placed because the movement definitely woke Isaiah up, but I think it would be a fun event to watch.

Yawning, Isaiah stretched. “What time is it?”

I glanced at my clock. “Five thirty.” When I moved to sit up, I became acutely aware of the plug still in my ass. Immediately afterwards, I became acutely aware of my intense need to pee.

When I moved my hand to the plug, Isaiah stopped me. “Leave it in.”

“I have to pee,” I told him. “I’m not walking around with this thing in.”

Isaiah’s predatory grin told me otherwise. Shrugging, I tried to stand up without having the plug slip out of me. It was doable, but I was clenching around it in an effort to keep it inside. “It won’t fall out,” Isaiah said, but I didn’t believe him. I pulled on a pair of my tightest underwear hoping the cloth would help keep it in.

“I don’t like walking around with it in,” I told him.

“Just for a little while,” he pleaded. “I promise it will be worth it.” His grin widened. “Also, I’m pretty hungry. What about you? Want to go out to eat?”

I glared at him. “There’s no way in fucking hell that I’m going outside with this thing in. I feel like I’m waddling like a damn penguin. I’ll see what I can scrounge up in the kitchen, and then you are going to fuck me until I forgive you for this.”

“Deal.”

The underwear helped, I think, but it still wasn’t a pleasant sensation. Oh, well. I was willing to try it, for at least a little while.

After using the bathroom, Isaiah went in after me, then followed me downstairs to the kitchen. He had chosen not to put on clothes. His soft cock was still quite large, and I kept staring at its uncircumcised girth, entranced.

Once in the kitchen, I was once again reminded about how wonderful a person my mother is. In the fridge, she had left several already prepped meals just needing to be microwaved. “Do you want broccoli casserole, beef stew, or”—I opened the third container and peered inside—“actually, I don’t know what this is. Some kind of chicken with rice.”

Isaiah leaned over my shoulder and peeked. “It looks like curry.” He sniffed it. “It smells amazing.”

“My mom’s a great cook,” I told him.

He put the curry back in the fridge and looked at his other options. “Beef stew,” he finally decided.

Putting the stew in a pot, I warmed it up on the stove. I had grown more used to the butt plug and almost forgot about it while I stood at the stove. While we ate, Isaiah asked me about school and other innocuous things. I had recently received my letter from Wake Forest announcing a soccer scholarship, so I excitedly talked about being on the team at such a prestigious school. I was also beginning to make plans to attend the college’s summer soccer training. After we ate, Isaiah cleaned up and washed the dishes. When he finished, I pulled down my underwear and bent over the table. “Can you take this thing out yet?”

Instead of taking it out, Isaiah stood behind me and stroked his dick against my ass. I could feel him getting hard, and my own body responded immediately. He pulled at the base of the butt plug and started moving it in and out in small motions.

“Fuck, the lube is upstairs,” Isaiah groaned.

“Who cares?” I grumbled.

“You will.” He laid his meat against my ass again. “Trust me. We’ll need lube.” He smacked my ass—not hard, but it made an audible _smack_. “Come on. Faster we get upstairs, the faster we can do this.”

I don’t think either of us expected me to sprint up the stairs, but I did. By the time Isaiah had found his way back to my bedroom, I was face down, ass up on the bed, the bottle of lube balanced on my back.

Isaiah laughed. “You know, I really have never met someone quite like you.” I could hear him approaching, and my cock twitched in anticipation. When he got close enough, he slowly pulled out the plug. After having it in for so long, I felt strangely empty. He picked up the lube and poured it on his cock. I moved my head so I could watch him stroke his continuously growing mast.

Isaiah was already huffing. He leaned over and whispered, “Do you mind if I call you names during sex?”

“The keyword is ‘sex,’” I told him. “So long as I’m getting off, you can call me whatever the fuck you want.”

Isaiah’s voice caught in his throat. “God you’re such a cock slut.”

“See? That’s not even a name, that’s just the truth.” Maybe I should leave the dirty talk to others and try my best to stay silent.

Something hard and wet pushed against my entrance. Even with the butt plug having stretched me, it still took some time for Isaiah to fit all the way inside. He was incredibly considerate of my every intake of breath, pausing so I could adjust to the size. Finally, his hips were pressed against me.

“You know what, I think the butt plug really helped. I think you were right.”

He started to pump in and out. “Yeah? You liked having it in you, whore?”

Huh. Well, I’m glad he warned me about the names because I’m pretty sure I otherwise would have elbowed him in the ribs. He did ask me a question, though. Was I supposed to respond?

“No, I really didn’t like the feeling of leaving it in for so long. I think it would be fine if we put it in, like, _right_ before, but—”

“Alex.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

I guess I wasn’t supposed to respond.

Isaiah started to thrust faster while shifting his hips. I couldn’t understand what he was trying to do until—

“Ohhh…”

In all the times I had masturbated using my fingers, I had never been able to hit that particular spot deep inside me. And last time Isaiah and I had slept together, he hadn’t spent long inside me. But, damn, it felt fucking incredible.

I hammered myself back onto Isaiah, no longer letting him control the pace. I knew I would be sore later, but for now I wanted it deep and rough.

Isaiah gripped my hips with his hands and helped pull me back towards him. “You like that, bitch?”

Okay, you know what? Yes, I like it, but I don’t think I like the name calling.

“Take it all, whore.”

Yeah, that’s not for me. Do I wait until we’re done to tell him, or should I say something now? He _did _just tell me to shut up, so maybe I should just wait? Besides, the pros of getting fucked drastically outweighed the cons of name-calling.

“Two things.” Wow, my mouth really moves without permission from my brain, doesn’t it? Isaiah slowed down, and I continued. “One, I want to try a new position, and two, I don’t think the name calling is right for me.”

“Okay. Lie on your back.”

I complied, and Isaiah took the opportunity to lube back up before sliding in. He shifted his hips and almost immediately hit my prostate. Wrapping my legs around him, I moaned and tried to bring our bodies together as closely as possible. I put my arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. My tongue thrashed against his, and I was suddenly seized by a deep need—

My mind was playing tricks on me again because it was Grayson’s voice in my ear, even though Isaiah’s face was far from me and his teeth were biting his lower lip. “Does that feel good? You like the feeling of me deep inside you, don’t you? God, Alex, cum for me…”

And as I fisted myself and came, I realized something terrible.

Ever since I had met Grayson, I had only been able to cum thinking of him.

* * *

A sound woke me from a deep slumber. My instincts screamed, “Danger! Danger!” but I couldn’t place why I should be so worried. A warm body slept next to me, and I snuggled more deeply against Isaiah. Yawning, I made plans to sleep the whole morning away. My lower back was sore but not nearly as sore as our first time had been. I relished the idea of fucking enough times that it no longer hurt.

A different sound this time, and the alarm bells continued to sound in my head. What was it? What was that sound?

I sat up, and Isaiah stirred beside me. He rubbed his eyes and smiled up at me. “Morning, sexy.”

Footsteps on stairs. That’s what it was. But who could it be? My parents weren’t supposed to return until tomorrow.

The fist pounding on my door told me otherwise. “I am going to count to ten, and you are going to get your ass out here, or I am coming through that door whether you’re decent or not.”

I don’t think I’ve ever heard my dad so angry before. My blood froze. Usually Mom was the one who was upset and doing the screaming. For Dad to shout, I knew I had royally fucked up.

Isaiah turned and looked at me, waiting to see what I would do. I wondered if he had been in this situation before, for he didn’t seem worried. In fact, I think he would’ve fallen back to sleep if I let him. As it stood, however, I threw his clothes at him and got dressed faster than those speedy clothes changer people on the TV talent shows. You know the ones I mean.

“Three seconds,” Dad warned.

I checked to see Isaiah’s progress and inwardly groaned that he barely had his shirt over his head. I was once more struck by how completely unfazed he seemed.

It didn’t matter if he was dressed or not, anyway. This next part was between Dad and me. Steeling myself against the nuclear detonation I was about to walk into, I slowly creaked open the door.

Dad was absolutely seething with rage. At the end of his finger, he held my underpants. Why did he have—? Oh, shit. I must have left them downstairs. But it shouldn’t have mattered because Mom and Dad should _still be on vacation!_

“Who do these belong to?” Dad fumed.

Gingerly I retrieved my underpants, feeling like a movie character who was attempting to disarm a bomb and knowing one wrong move would blow up the entire city block. “Those are mine, sir.” Dad didn’t respond; his eyes only narrowed further. I probably could have said they belonged to the Queen of England for all the care Dad gave to my answer.

“Imagine my absolute delight when I get a phone call from Barry this morning saying there had been a strange car in our driveway all evening and that it was still there this morning.” I think I prefer Dad when he’s shouting. The low, bracing edge of his voice had me visibly shaking in fear. “‘Well, thank you, Barry,’ I told him, ‘but my son is responsible enough to tell his parents if he had a friend staying over.’ So you know what I did?”

My voice came out quieter than a whisper, and I shrank before him. “No, sir.”

“I called you. And called you again. And then your _mother _called you.” Hearing Mom was trying to reach me hurt more than anything Dad could have said. I could imagine her, worried, panicked, wondering who was at the house if I wasn’t answering.

“So then what did I do?”

A block of ice hit my stomach. Yes, I knew exactly what Dad would do. Dad would get a hold of my friends to find out where I was.

My bedroom door opened again. I don’t know how, but Isaiah seemed absolutely unfazed by the murderous glare my father sent his way. “I’m going to head out,” he announced nonchalantly. “It’s been real.” He put one hand on my shoulder. “If I don’t hear from you again, I understand.” Then he had the actual _gall_ to give my father a nod of his head. “Good morning, and sorry for any trouble I caused.”

And then he was gone.

Leaving just me and my dad.

That meant no witnesses to the murder that was about to take place.

Amazingly Dad’s voice became even lower and sharper. “That was him?” Each word was clipped and short. “_That_ is who you brought into my _fucking house?”_ Dad’s voice had raised in anger, and now he was shouting. I shrank before him, sliding down to the floor, mouth open, staring up at my father, tears stinging my eyes. “That’s the boy you met at a _party_ where you engaged in _underage drinking_?”

Yup, he must have called Brayden. I didn’t blame him for spilling the beans on what had been going on. Before my father’s rage, I would have confessed to every one of Ted Bundy’s murders if it meant there was the slightest chance of getting out of this alive.

Dad visibly struggled to get his anger back under control. “Alex, your mother and I fucking trusted you for seventeen years, and never once did you give us any reason to doubt you. You know the thing that upset your mother the most? That you didn’t _trust her enough _to tell her about this.” Dad knew just the right buttons to hit. The tears streamed down my face, and I choked back a sob. Making Dad angry was one thing; betraying my mother’s trust was absolutely another.

“Where is Mom?” I sobbed.

“Still at the hotel,” Dad scoffed. “You know what your mother said right before I left? That there was no reason I should come check the house because you would never betray us like this. And you know what I’m going to have to tell her when I get back?”  
I cried harder. “Dad, _no!_ I—I…I’ll tell her…”

Fishing his phone from his pocket, he dialed Mom’s number and handed the phone to me. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

Mom picked up on the third ring. “Rick, are you finished at the house yet? What was—”

My crying cut her off. I couldn’t speak through the tears, but Mom immediately understood. She let out a deep sigh and whispered, “Oh, Alex…”

No other words needed to be said. She waited with me on the phone until my tears had dried up. Honestly, I don’t think there was anything she could have said that would have eased the guilt of sneaking a boy into the house. At the time, it hadn’t seemed that big of a deal, but I probably should have predicted this reaction from my parents. Honestly, I think if I had told my mom up front what my plan was, she probably would have tolerated it. It’s the _sneaking_ that gets her.

Once my tears were gone, Mom just sighed. “Alex, I know you’re older, but you really need to start learning how to _think_. I’ll see you when I get home.” The fact that she hung up without saying _good-bye_ or _I love you_ cut deeply enough that I started crying again.

It took longer than I cared to admit before I was ready to go downstairs and face my father. I silently handed the phone to him before sinking rigidly onto the couch. Dad stared me down for several minutes, and I withered under that gaze. Finally, he let out a sigh so long and deep that it probably could have been heard across the street.

“So.” More silence. I think Dad felt completely out of his element here. I rarely did anything that involved discipline, and Mom was usually the one to deliver it. The faintest notion that maybe I could convince my dad that because I rarely caused trouble I could maybe go free this one time evaporated under Dad’s piercing glare.

Dad cleared his throat and continued. “So, was he…your boyfriend?”

What was Isaiah to me? From the beginning, we had stated that we were only interested in the pleasure without any of the strings attached. And now knowing that he was probably gone from my life—who would want to stick around these nagging parents, am I right?—the only thing that I’d really miss was that cock buried in my ass. I mean, I barely knew anything about him. For a brief second I wondered if he left my “presents” in my room or if he took them with him when he left.

“No, sir.”

My answer threw Dad for a loop. He completely froze and stared at me. “So you brought, what, a stranger in my house? How long have you known him?”

“We went to high school together,” I answered. My eyes were glued to the floor, unable to face my father. “He’s two years older. He’s Declan’s brother.”

“Brayden said you met him at a party.”

I shrugged. “Sort of. I didn’t really know him in high school. We, uh…reconnected at the party.”

“Where there was underage drinking involved.”

“Yes, sir.”

The silence stretched for several minutes broken only by my occasional sniffles. I began to fear the silence would last forever, my father choosing never to speak to me again, but he finally spoke again. “Alex, your mother and I have acknowledged for a very long time that you’re not known for thinking things through. Even when you were a child, you would always choose the short-term, high-pay reward over the consequences of your actions. But damn it, Alex, you barely knew this guy! This was a college age student who took advantage of a drunk high schooler—”

“He didn’t—”

“He _did!”_ Dad bellowed, his suddenly raised voice causing me to shrink back from him once again. “I don’t care how complicit you were in this, but there’s absolutely no reason a _college student_ should be preying on _high school boys!_ And what were you _thinking_ getting drunk at a frat party? What if the cops showed up? You would have lost your Wake Forest scholarship! Then what would you have done?”

I didn’t know how to answer. For once in my life, I actually stayed quiet.

“And you know what I _know_ you didn’t think about? What _diseases_ this guy might have passed to you. If he’s the kind of person to seduce young boys and lure them off to his bedroom…imagine how many other partners he’s had! Did you even _use_ a condom? Probably not, right? What did he say? ‘Oh, we don’t need to use a condom, it feels so much better without one?’ _Bullshit._ You don’t fool around with a _stranger _whose partner history you don’t know without practicing some fucking safe sex.”

Dad was right. I absolutely had not thought about those things. In my mind, gonorrhea and chlamydia were something whores contracted. Not me, not good ol’ Alex. I was untouchable. Condoms were absolutely the farthest thing from my mind. But, yeah, Isaiah hadn’t mentioned them, either. What did that mean?

I took in a ragged breath. My voice was hoarse and cracked but I needed to know. “How do I…get checked?” I finally met Dad’s eyes. “What do I do?”

“We’ll need to make an appointment with your doctor. They’re closed on the weekend, so I’ll call Monday.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Someone needs to look out for you, if you won’t.” Dad stood up from the couch and towered over me. “Now, I am going to go back on my vacation and try to salvage what I can of it.” He pointed his finger at me. “_You_ are going to stay in this house. _No one _is to come over. Consider yourself under house arrest for the time being until your mother and I figure out how we’re going to punish you.”

I almost asked if he was going to take my phone away, but I bit my lip before I could give him any ideas. Honestly, being alone for awhile would probably be good for me. And I definitely wouldn’t be inviting anyone over for at least the next decade. Maybe even the next century. “Yes, sir,” was all I said.

Once Dad had pulled out of the driveway, I collapsed on the couch, physically and emotionally drained. Thoughts raced round and round my head as I contemplated the events that had to this moment. The last thing I ever wanted was to upset my parents as much as I had. And, really, the only goal I had for this entire experience was to get fucked. I had, at least, achieved that goal.

Was it worth it?

…Actually, that might be a little tough to answer.

* * *

It was almost seven o’clock before I managed to peel myself off the couch. How beautifully this day had started, waking up wrapped in warm arms, and now where was I? In a right mess.

I went to the kitchen and heated up the broccoli casserole from the fridge. I imagined my mother lovingly making this meal, worried that I wouldn’t get enough to eat during her short weekend getaway, and I almost started crying again. I forced myself to finish eating, even though I wasn’t all that hungry, but I hadn’t had anything to eat since the previous evening and I needed something in my body. After dinner, I washed the dishes and went to take a shower. I debated crawling back into bed, but after having been on the couch all day, I decided that probably wasn’t the best idea.

When I checked my phone, my jaw dropped at the sight of the number of missed calls and texts. Dad had been right; he really had tried to get ahold of me. I must have put my phone on silent at some point, because I’m pretty sure I would have at least heard the vibrations.

I checked my missed texts and bitterly witnessed the spiral of emotions Brayden had gone through in the past twenty-four hours. His original texts warned me that my father had called him and fished for information. He had spilled more than he intended, stating that my father is “an intimidating man when angry.” The next several texts warned that my dad was probably on his way to check on me. The last dozen or so texts were Brayden pleading for me to answer my phone, begging my forgiveness. “I know you’re mad at me, but please, let’s talk this out. Don’t just ignore me.”

Sighing, I pressed the call button.

“Alex, I’m so glad you finally called back!” For Brayden not to pick up with his trademark “Yell-Oh!” was testament enough to how he was feeling.

“Sorry, my phone was on silent in my room all day.” I realized I was mumbling and made an effort to speak up. “I’m not mad at you, Brayden. I’ve just had a very trying day.”

There was a deep sigh on the other end. “I’ve been worried about you. I’m assuming your dad…found you?”

“Yeah. I’m kind of…grounded for the foreseeable future.”

“You know, this is the second time I’ve told your parents about your boyfriends before you did.”

I thought back to the incident with Graham. Oh, yeah. Huh. “Well, neither were my boyfriend, so…”

* * *

After two weeks of being locked in the house (apart from going directly to and from school), Mom finally relented to letting me get out of the house long enough to go to the gym. She said my endless pacing up and down the hallway was driving her crazy. That, and she had literally tripped over me twice in the past week while I was doing push-ups. I was almost all the way out the door before I realized I hadn’t asked permission to use her car and that I was wearing blue jeans.

Father, it’s been two whole weeks since I’ve last seen Mr. Hartman. And, boy, do I have a lot of sins to confess.

Mom ended up driving me to the gym, and I didn’t blame her. I think part of her was suspicious that the “gym” might have been a cover story for other secrets. While I did have very nice muscle definition to show her otherwise, I could understand why she might think I was going there for impure reasons. Because I most definitely was. But crushing after my friend’s father and sneaking boys into the house while your parents are on vacation are two very different things.

On taking one look at the crowded gym through the windows, Mom informed that she’d be next door shopping and to meet her there as soon as I was done.

Two weeks without my usual regimen set me back further than I thought it would. I ended up spending less time than usual on the treadmill, my stamina having taken a moderate hit. When I had first walked in, I hadn’t seen Brayden or his dad, so I assumed they weren’t there (to my utmost dismay). I was so zoned in to what I was doing on the sit-up bench that I almost pulled a muscle when Mr. Hartman appeared suddenly in my field of vision.

“Haven’t seen you in quite a while,” he greeted. Over half the time, he didn’t greet me by name, and I was beginning to wonder if he kept forgetting it. How’s that for a shot to the ego?

I didn’t really know how to respond other than, “Yeah, I got into some trouble and have been stuck at home.”

Grayson frowned. “Brayden told me a little bit about what happened.”

Well, suck my tits. Did Brayden air my dirty laundry to the entire world? Was there anyone who _didn’t_ know?

“I just want to say that you should be careful when you’re meeting up with strangers. Don’t be shy to get tested and all that.”

What. The. Living. Fuck.

There was no way this was happening right now. My face turned beet red. Is that what he thought of me? Someone who picked up random guys from off the street to sleep with?

Though, I suppose…technically that’s what I did.

And I did go with my dad to the doctor’s to get tested for STI’s, which was above and beyond mortifying, to say the least. But my results came back clean, so I had the doctor’s approval to get right back up on that fuck wagon and get busy!

I don’t know what expression I was making, but Mr. Hartman looked fairly guilty. “Sorry, kid, I was just—”

All the negative emotions I had been feeling over the past two weeks rolled themselves into a giant ball and exploded at that moment. Shaking with rage, I stood up and faced Mr. Hartman, getting inches from his face. I was surprised to see that I was almost as tall as he was, maybe three inches shorter. (I guess when you go to the big boy doctor for an STI check, they stop measuring how tall you are. I didn’t even get a lollipop after my shots.) My fists were shaking, and I wanted to hit something. _“Don’t call me kid,” _I seethed.

Mr. Hartman put his hands up defensively in front of his face and took a step back. “Slow down, there. You’re upset. Take a deep breath.”

But I didn’t want to take a deep breath, and I definitely didn’t want to calm down. For the moment, it felt good to be angry. Grabbing my water bottle and phone, I stormed outside and punched the first inanimate object I saw.

Turns out a concrete pillar can absolutely break your hand.

Part of me recalled my dad saying that I tended to live in the short-term moments without thinking through to the long-term consequences. I think this might have been one of those moments.

Mom was not, in fact, next door shopping, but was, in fact, standing right outside the gym watching the entrance. She must have been watching what I was doing through the glass. Through the pain of my busted and bleeding hand, I recognized exactly how far I had broken her trust. She rushed to me, screaming, losing it at the sight of the blood, and having no clue what to do. Mr. Hartman must have seen the entire thing, for he was sprinting out the door even as Mom was shouting for help.

A firm hand rested on my upper back, and if I had been in any other state of mind, I would have swooned. I could count on one hand the number of times we had made actual physical contact, and that included accidentally bumping into one another. To my mom, he introduced himself as Braydon’s dad and offered to drive both of us to the hospital. Mom quickly acceded, panicked tears running down her face, and followed Mr. Hartman to his car.

Okay, so Mom can put trust in a total stranger, but she has to monitor me while I’m at the gym? What if he was a serial killer who preyed on stupid teenagers and their gullible mothers? Now, granted, a serial killer probably wouldn’t know Grayson’s name…and it was probably a good thing Mom was waiting for me outside… I don’t think I’m very good at deflecting blame away from myself.

The hospital was fairly close. As we drove, Mom called Dad but was crying too hard to give him any details. Honestly, woman, I’m the one with the broken hand here. Why are _you_ crying? Mom passed Mr. Hartman the phone who was able to walk Dad much more calmly through the situation. After hanging up, he told us that Dad would meet us at the hospital with the insurance information.

All this time, blood had been steadily dripping from the cuts along my knuckles and fingers. The car was swaying uncomfortably back and forth, and a wave of nausea crashed over me.

“I’m getting blood on the floor,” I announced. I was surprised at how calm my voice sounded. Hollowly, I added, “And I’m going to throw up now.”

In addition to throwing up, I passed out. Thankfully Mr. Hartman had had the wherewithal to buckle my seatbelt because otherwise I would have careened forward into my vomit pile. The next thing I knew, we were in the emergency drop-off lane, and a strong pair of arms was helping me from the car. Dazed, I leaned against the body helping me and said woozily, “So strong, Prince Doctor. Doctor Prince. But don’t kiss me because I threw up.”

It was Mr. Hartman’s voice who answered, “I know,” but I wasn’t sure if it was really him. My mind tended to turn every man into Mr. Hartman.

“If I die, tell my mom that I love her.”

Mom let out a choked laugh through her tears. “Alex, you devil child, you’re not going to die from a broken hand.”

Once inside, several nurses rushed to me at once with gauze, tape, and ice packs. They guided me to a chair and helped wrap up my hand while Mom checked me in and filled out paperwork. Someone helped me drink from a paper cup. The water helped clear my head, but my stomach was still in a roil. Once my hand was taped up, it seemed I was deemed healthy enough to sit in the waiting room for an unknown amount of time. As the last nurse turned to walk off, I gasped, “Please, the pain is absolutely unbelievable. Isn’t there medicine for something like this?”

The nurse smiled grimly. “Sorry, but we have to get you checked in first.”

The waiting room chairs were unbearably uncomfortable, and the armrests made it impossible to lie down. Mom sat down next to me, a stack of forms on a clipboard, and sighed. “Alex, what on Earth made you think punching cement would solve a single one of your problems?”

I forced a grin. “That’s just it, Mom. As you and Dad say…I don’t think.”

She forced a laugh in return. “Keep up that smart mouth, Buster, and I am going to keep you locked in your room until you’re 60.”

“It’s probably safer that way,” I agreed.

Nearly ten minutes later, Mr. Hartman joined us in the waiting room. “I ran into your husband in the parking lot.” He addressed my mother, barely sparing me a glance. “He was very persistent in taking my car to get cleaned. I kept telling him that he needn’t feel obligated, but he insisted.”

Though Mr. Hartman never looked my way, I kept my eyes locked on his face. “That’s Dad for you. I’m very lucky to have such wonderful parents. No clue how two such fabulous people produced the giant fuck up that is M. E.”

Mom swatted my shoulder without even glancing up from the paperwork. “You’re so dramatic.” When she finished the line she was working on, she turned to smile at Mr. Hartman. “But, honestly, we cannot thank you enough. If you hadn’t been there for us…I mean, you saw the state I was in! Please, the least we could do is pay to have your car cleaned.”

Mr. Hartman finally turned those blue eyes on me. In slow motion, I watched him chew his bottom lip and wrinkle his forehead. He looked guilty as hell. Wait. Did he think he was partially at fault for my pulling a solid temper tantrum? I glanced at Mom. How could I reassure him that my moments of stupidity were absolutely mine and mine alone without Mom overhearing our conversation?

Abruptly Mom threw her pen down on the clipboard frustratedly. “Damn it, your father still has the insurance information.” She dumped the clipboard in the seat and pulled out her phone from her purse. “I’ll be right back.”

Well, I’ll be damned. Ask and you shall receive.

Once Mom was out of earshot, Mr. Hartman immediately started apologizing. “Alex, I’m so, so very sorry—”

“Stop,” I rebuked. “Please don’t think this is your fault. I’m stupid, which causes me to do very stupid things. Why, just earlier this evening, I picked a stupid fight with someone who was only trying to help, and then I very stupidly broke my hand.”

Mr. Hartman smiled weakly. Wait a minute, I was back to calling him ‘Mr. Hartman’ in my head. Grayson. Grayson with the nice smile, the chiseled jaw, the trimmed beard, the brilliant blue eyes, the…God, if I could just fuck his face, I would.

Whoa, slow down there, Alex.

“When I saw you rush out of the gym, I didn’t know what you were going to do. You looked so angry. I was worried you were going to step in front of a moving vehicle, so I followed you outside.” He reached out to touch my arm but stopped, hovering. I resisted the urge to reach out and take it with my unbroken hand. Slowly, he pulled his hand back into his lap and clasped it with his other one. “But I still feel like I need to apologize. You got so angry when I called you ‘kid’… Seventeen is just that awkward age where…you look and act like an adult, but legally you’re still a child. So I can understand why you’d be upset. I didn’t really think it through. I’m going to be honest, I’m not good with names, so I tend to avoid saying them. If I don’t say anyone’s name, then I can’t be embarrassed when I get it wrong.”

I pointed at my chest. “I’m Alex.” I stretched out the vowels and said it again, “_Aaaleeex_.”

Grayson laughed. “You know, I really like you, Alex.”

My heart began pounding. I’m sure the sound could be heard throughout the hospital. There were probably doctors upstairs frantically checking EKG’s, worried their patients were going into cardiac arrest. The logical center of my brain (as small as it was) was screaming that he didn’t mean it _that way_, but the rest of my brain was trying to convince me that that was as good as coming right out and saying, “I love you and would very much like to marry you.”

Thankfully, Mom returned at that moment, which gave me plenty of time to calm down. Never in a million years would I have trusted myself to answer Grayson at that moment, which meant that my stupid self would have confessed every impure intention I had right there and then. He and my mother made small talk, and I contented myself with watching his lips move, wanting nothing more than to kiss them.

Grayson stayed until dad returned. Then Grayson drove Dad back to the gym so he could pick up Mom’s car and bring it back to the hospital. Part of me wanted to ask Grayson to stay with me until my hand was fixed up, but thankfully my mouth didn’t betray myself for once.

Several hours and X-rays later, it was determined that I had indeed broken my hand. The doctor called it a Boxer’s fracture and indicated that for now, I probably wouldn’t need a cast, just a splint and bandage, but to return to a doctor immediately if I noticed a change in the level of pain. I was given painkillers and permission to continue physical activity so long as it didn’t include the use of my hand.

When we finally arrived home, it was after midnight. Dad went straight to bed, but I noticed Mom lingering in the hallway outside my room. I sat on my bed and patted the spot next to me. “Come talk to me, mama.”

She hesitated in the doorway, almost as if she was thinking about turning away and never starting the next conversation. Finally, she came and sat next to me, stiffly sinking next to me on the mattress. It was several more minutes before she was able to finish gathering her courage to speak.

“Alex, for about the past year and a half, there’s been…a wall between us. Like you’re hiding something big. I know you’re almost eighteen, and you’re allowed to keep secrets from your mother, but…I worry about you. You’re not good at keeping things bottled up inside. It’s simultaneously your strength and your weakness to have your thoughts constantly tumbling from your mouth. But, Alex, please…tell me what’s going on.”

I chewed my lip anxiously. It’s true that the things I’ve kept from my mother have exploded in my face, but…having a crush on my friend’s father bordered more on a sexual fantasy than on a secret. If I were into, oh, say, bondage, I wouldn’t be telling my mom about my new gimp suit.

She saw my hesitation and continued speaking, gently pressing for me to share with her what I had hidden inside myself. “I had a feeling, today, when you asked to go to the gym that something big would happen. I admit that I was spying on you through the glass. Nothing at all looked amiss, then you spoke with Mr. Hartman and…immediately after, you stormed out of there, your face full of rage.” She placed a hand gently on my knee. “Please talk to me. Did Mr. Hartman say or do anything to—”

“No,” I interrupted sharply. “No, he—he hasn’t done anything.” I took a deep breath. Mom would continue pressing me all night if she had to. I might as well tell her sooner rather than later. “I…” Oh, God, this was awkward. “I have a crush on Mr. Hartman. It’s been going on since last year. There’s nothing between us, and he doesn’t know.”

Mom was confused. “Alex, I don’t understand. Why would you get so worked up, then?”

Frustration surged once more. “Because there’s nothing I can do about it! I’ve tried keeping my distance from him and letting my emotions cool, but I think they’ve gotten stronger. Mom, I think I might…love him.”

Mom froze. “That’s—”

I cut her off. “Impossible, I know. He’s my friend’s dad, and I would never do anything to compromise that. But…I can’t get him out of my head. I joined the gym so I could be with him. Same with those Saturday tennis games. For God’s sake, Mom, I ran that 5k just so I could see him. And he…” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and took a deep breath to calm myself down. “I know he just sees me as a stupid kid. He calls me that sometimes. ‘Kid.’ That’s what I got so upset about.” I hung my head, not knowing what else to do. The product I had put in my hair this morning had lost its strength hours ago, and lanky strands fell into my eyes. I blew at them, trying to make them go back to where they belong.

Mom moved her hand from my knee to my back and rubbed it gently. “Alex, I’ve always been a little jealous of your ability to feel things so much more deeply than the rest of us. Between your too big heart and your too big mouth, you really know how to make those around you smile. I know this isn’t very comforting, but you’ll find someone that you’ll fall in love with someday, and then you’ll understand the difference between a crush and love. Until then, though, you will experience much heartache, but that’s part of growing up. And when you look back on all of this, you’ll remember all those you thought you loved with fondness.”

But now that it had been said out loud, I knew. What childish crush lasted for a year and a half unless it was love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to have to adjust my update frequency to every other Monday. I thought I'd be finished writing this story by now, but I'm stuck on chapter 9.

Before I knew it, my senior year was over and done with. After that conversation with Mom, she tried everything to convince me to quit the gym. “You’re just hurting yourself by staying there,” she had said. I knew she was right, but I vastly preferred the ache of seeing him to the pain of his absence. Mom told me things would get easier when I got to college and was physically apart from him. Part of me accepted that she was right and was eager to be rid of this crush, but other parts of me bemoaned the thought of never seeing him again.

Brayden’s mom threw a huge graduation party for our senior class. Surprisingly, Mr. Hartman was actually invited to his ex-wife’s home. They avoided each other, never being in the same room as one another, but I know he noticed the large engagement diamond on her hand. My parents spent a lot of time speaking with Mr. Hartman at the party. At first I was nervous that Mom would say something about my crush on him, but I should have known better. Mom would never do something like that to me.

And then, suddenly, it was time for pre-season summer soccer training at Wake Forest. I burned with excitement at the thought of joining such a prestigious team, and I was proud of myself for having earned that spot. I spent much more time working on cardio at the gym, preparing myself for the intense stamina needed for college soccer. Brayden, unfortunately, was not accepted to Wake Forest on soccer scholarship and ended up at UNC with a more generalized state scholarship. It pained me to part ways with such a close friend, but such was life.

My first official practice with my team went above and beyond my expectations. In that moment, my love for soccer deepened to the point that I wanted nothing else than to join a professional team. My parents encouraged that dream but also cautioned me to work hard at my major in order to have a fallback plan.

I made friends easily. Living in the dorms meant meeting scores of new people every day. I grew close to three individuals in particular: Ben and Mateo on my soccer team and Marcus my roommate. Being an extrovert meant it was much easier to surround myself with people and noise to keep my thoughts occupied and away from certain older men.

I worked hard at my classes and kept up my grades. I performed well enough at practice that Coach put me in for a few minutes during the first game of the season. Never having played with such a large crowd, their cries seemed to reverberate within me, and I basked in the glory of their cheers. I did well with balancing homework and friends, and when I went to parties, I never drank more than two beers, pacing myself much better than I had in high school.

Things were going splendidly.

But Mom was wrong. Though I tried everything to keep my mind off Grayson, my devilish thoughts continuously betrayed me. Anything could set my mind to thinking of him, and he was still the main focus of my masturbation fantasies. Even as I neared the end of the first semester, I thought if anything my obsession with him had grown.

And just like that, soccer season was over. To my delight, the coaches had put me in more games than any other freshman on the team. Things had been going so well, in fact, that I kept feeling like I needed to look over my shoulder for the inevitable crash after any climb.

After midterms, I spent winter break at parents’ house. They had immediately rearranged my room while I was gone, turning it into a generic guest bedroom while redecorating the old guest room into an office for my dad. He had gotten a promotion which allowed him to work from home two days out of the week. I slept on sheets that weren’t mine and almost felt guilty masturbating in the guest bedroom.

Three days into break and I had entirely too much time on my hands. Mom had continuously doted on me for the first thirty-two hours, crooning about how much she had missed her baby, until, on the thirty-third hour, she tripped over my feet while I was doing crunches behind the couch.

“You’ve spent all this time inside,” she said after she had caught her balance. “Why don’t you see if any of your high school friends are home for Christmas. Go watch a movie. Go play soccer in the park.”

“Sounds great, Mom. Can I use your car?”

Her laughs echoed off the living room walls and into the kitchen as she walked off.

I texted Brayden. When he came to pick me up, he had a car of his own. Apparently, his mom’s new husband had bought it for him as a graduation present. It was used, but a used car is infinitely superior to no car.

My body stiffened as I recognized the route we were taking, and I gripped the edges of my seat. We were headed to his dad’s house. My heart eagerly pounded in my chest as I was bitterly reminded how my feelings had not cooled off at all.

When we entered the house, I was surprised to see boxes piled up along the walls. In response, Brayden said, “Now that mom’s married, Dad doesn’t have to pay alimony anymore, or child support since I graduated. He’s thinking about moving to Charlotte, but he may request a promotion to be sent out of state. He’s talked about getting a government job in D.C., but then he starts cackling, so I never know if he’s being serious or not.”

This new development was overwhelming, and I sank to the couch in a daze. Grayson, moving? Granted, I had already acknowledged the reality that I would probably never see him again once I started college, but I had still held on to that possibility of running into him at the grocery store, or returning to our weekly gym schedule after I graduated. Moving to Charlotte was one thing; that was only an hour and a half drive away. But out of state? I couldn’t believe it.

To cover my shock, I picked up the TV remote and started flicking through the channels. Brayden moved into the kitchen to grab us snacks and drinks, and I took that brief time to process.

What did I even think I was going to do in the future anyway? I had told my parents that I was set on being a professional soccer player. If anyone would be moving out of state, it would be me. Did I think Grayson would follow me from team to team? I mean, I didn’t even have his phone number.

Once again, I was reminded of how drastically I needed to cement myself to reality.

Footsteps on the stairs, and my heart stopped. I couldn’t bring myself to turn and look at him, staring straight ahead at the TV lest any emotion on my face gave myself away.

“Oh.”

My breath hitched. Was it just me, or was there a heck of a lot of emotion packed into that one syllable? Considering my imagination tended to run away from me, I’m sure I was reading entirely too much into it.

A lengthy pause then, “Alex. Ha, I remembered it.”

I had to turn and look. There was no way I could keep my eyes from him.

A pair of plaid pajama pants was all he wore, and they were slung way low on his hips. My eyes roved across his naked, muscular torso. He had retained the same amount of chiseled definition as when I had last seen him, straying far from the overworked bodybuilder look and just staying…perfect. I saw he watched me, too, but his face quickly turned to an unreadable mask before I could interpret his previous expression.

Brayden exited the kitchen with snacks in hand and dumped them on the coffee table. He pointed accusingly at Grayson and said, “Don’t even think about roping him into another 10k, Dad.”

All I heard was “an excuse to spend more time with Grayson.” “10k? What 10k?”

Brayden groaned. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” He pointed accusingly at me and said, “No, I’m not doing it. I’m perfectly happy with maintaining my current sedentary lifestyle. I didn’t run a single mile I didn’t have to at UNC, and I prefer to keep it that way.”

I pinched his underarm and said, “That explains why you’re getting chubby.”

He slapped my hand aside. “Oh, fuck you, Alex. I said I didn’t run  _ extra _ , not that I didn’t run at all.” He raised his two arms and flexed. “I’ve gotta keep up the gun maintenance if I want to keep swimming in honey.”

“That metaphor didn’t work at all.”

“Oh, because you’re such a wordsmith.”

Not wanting to get too off-track, I turned back to Grayson. “Soccer is over for the year, and I’ll have a lot of spare time. I’d love to train for a 10k.”

A frown. No, no,  _ no,  _ why was he frowning?

“That’s right, I forgot. You don’t live here anymore.”

“And he doesn’t have a car,” Brayden piped up as unhelpfully as possible.

My emotional high crashed, dashing all of my hopes with it. So fucking unfair. All that was left now was to drop out of college so I could spend just a few more precious minutes with—

“Where are you? NCU?”

I shook my head. “No, Wake Forest.”

Grayson chewed his lip, thinking. “That’s, what, a forty-minute drive? Maybe a little less from this side of town. Hmm…” He thought some more. “Well, if you’re serious about training for the 10k, I could see about driving out there on Saturdays to go for a run. There are some fairly nice trails out there. I used to meet a buddy of mine out near the college to go running.”

My hopes never learned their lesson. They picked their shattered selves up off the ground and soared back through the air.

I wanted to shout, “Yes,  _ yes _ !” but my Southern upbringing tempered my excitement. “I don’t want to put you through too much trouble,” I lied.

Grayson waved a hand. “It’s only once a week, so I don’t mind. Although it would help if you could meet me out at the trail, so I don’t have to pick you up at your dorm. Here, let me give you my number…”

My brain melted as I watched Grayson type his number into my phone. It being so close to Christmas, I couldn’t help but wonder if Santa Claus was real and was delivering my present early.

Testing my luck, I said, “You know, I’m in town until classes start again. We could start training now.”

Grayson handed back my phone. “Sure. I’ll text you.”

If I had still been the horny teenager that I was at thirteen, I would have needed to excuse myself for an immediate masturbation session. Now that I was older and wiser, I thought maybe I could hold out until I got home. But if Grayson didn’t put on a shirt soon, maybe not.

When I got home, I told Mom and Dad I wanted to have a serious talk with them in the kitchen. Dad looked surprised, but Mom looked like I was about to deliver devastating news. When she started to sniffle, I had to assure her that it was nothing bad. After she calmed down, I started in on my plea.

“I’ve never really had need for a car. In high school, I was able to bum rides off friends or use mom’s car. However, now that I’m in college, it’s getting to be an inconvenience—no, a  _ hassle _ —having to find a ride every time I need to go somewhere. Therefore, I would like to formally ask for assistance in getting a car.”

“Do you have a job?” Dad asked, nonplussed.

“Well, no…”

“Then you don’t need a car.” Dad’s tone had an edge of finality to it, but I thought maybe I could still persuade Mom.

“I know I don’t have a job. It’s hard to work part-time during soccer season, and even during off-season, I still spend my free time training. I’m very grateful that I’m in a situation where I haven’t had to worry about money—and even more grateful of my scholarship—but I was just thinking that if I had a  _ car— _ ”

Dad cut me off. “We’ll get you a bike.”

Shocked, I clarified, “A  _ motorcycle _ ?”

Dad guffawed hard enough he had to grip the edge of the table to keep his seat. He slapped his thigh several times, his body shaking with laughter.

I sank in my seat and glared at him. “Gee, Dad, you don’t have to go overboard…”

And so it was decided. I would be the next owner of a brand-new bicycle. Actually, knowing Dad, he might pick out a tricycle, so…maybe I should thank the stars if the damn thing was even made for my age group.

But Dad surprised me and went above and beyond. The bicycle he picked out for me was top of the line, and he bought a fancy lock to go with it. “If this gets stolen,” Dad warned, “that’s it. No more bicycle. This is a one-time only deal. You want something else, you get a job and pay for it yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumbled. I ran my hand along the bike’s frame. Knowing next to nothing about bikes, I figured I should probably look into them some more, in case I got stranded on the side of the road with a…slipped chain? I don’t know. Were bikes like backs? Most definitely not.

I put my bike in the middle of the front yard and tried my hand at taking an Instagram-worthy picture. It wasn’t, but I posted it anyway, with the caption, “Got a new car! Merry Christmas to me!”

I also texted the picture to Grayson. It was the first text either of us had sent the other. I let him know that I’d be able to meet him anywhere within biking distance of the university when we started to train for the 10k.

Within a minute he had texted back, “Meet me at the park where we trained last time in 30 minutes?”

The park was fairly close to my parents’ house, so I chose to take my new bike out for a spin. Being as athletically-inclined as I was, I wrongfully assumed that it would be a cinch. The tops of my thighs were burning by the time I made it to the park, and it had taken me twice as long to get there as I had originally assumed.

I locked my bike up at the public rack and found Grayson stretching near the foot of the trail. We decided on running it twice, which only came to a little under nine kilometers, but it would do for now. I was mindful of keeping up with running due to soccer, and I was egotistically prideful when I began to outpace Grayson after four and a half kilometers. We took a break after six kilometers to let Grayson catch his breath and to drink some water.

“This is what happens when you get old,” Grayson bemoaned.

I laughed. “You’re not that old.”

Grayson frowned and said, “I’m old enough to be your father.”

“That’s technically true,” I answered carefully, “but my parents are over ten years older than you.”

Grayson laughed sheepishly. “You’ve got me there. I was always the youngest parent on Brayden’s field trips by a large margin. The staff at his elementary school thought I was kidding when I said I was his dad. They thought I was an older brother.” He nodded towards the trail. “Ready?”

I nodded, and we set out once more. The air was crisp and, and I wondered if it might snow before break was over. Breathing deeply, I found I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. I basked in this moment, reveling in how unbelievably lucky I was.

Grayson looked over at me and smiled as well. “That smile is contagious,” he said. “What has you in such a wonderful mood?”

A lie, a lie, quickly a lie. “I was just thinking about my soccer season. The coaches said I did really well. If I can go pro once I graduate, that’s what I really want to do.”

“I forgot you played soccer. I’ll have to go to one of your games.”

My heart raced at the idea of Grayson in the stands cheering me on. Clearly this man did not know the effect he had on me or else he would have never offered. But then I remembered the boxes in his living room, and my mood darkened. “Aren’t you moving? Brayden said you were moving to Charlotte or out of state.”

A shadow crossed Grayson’s face. “That’s still up in the air. Depends on my work. We’re in the middle of a restructuring, so many employees are wondering where the hammer will fall. Some are prematurely jumping ship. The company has offered to help us relocate to Washington, D.C., but I don’t think that’s the right move for me. It’s crossed my mind several times that I might like to move to Charlotte, but…” He shook his head. “Either way, I’m moving out of that dump that I’ve been renting for three years. The ex-wife’s claws are finally out of my money, so I’m looking for an upgrade.”

And once more my hopes sailed dangerously high. Until my big, stupid mouth said, “You should move out towards Winston-Salem!”

Grayson’s laugh was like an arrow through my heart, and his following words were like acid. “What for? My job is here; my friends are here. The only person I’d know out there would be you, and you said it yourself: after you graduate, if you go pro, you’d be moving, too. So I’d live there, for, what? Three years? Then what?” He shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m looking for something more permanent than that.”

It’s okay, broken heart. You just lay there in your millions of shattered pieces. No need to get up. The end of the world is here, anyway.

Grayson turned the conversation towards his work. He was more talkative than usual, and listening to him speak helped heal my bruised ego somewhat. After we finished our run, we worked through our warm-down stretches. As we stretched our arms, I noticed Grayson staring at me— _ really  _ staring at me. I looked down at my shirt, assuming I had spilled food on myself, or worse—that suspicious stain of “is it toothpaste or semen?”

When he didn’t look away, I prodded, more irritably than I intended, “What?”

A soft smile. “I was just thinking about how much you’ve grown these past few years. I remember that first time you came to my house to play video games with Brayden. You were so scrawny. But now look at you. You’ve really grown up.”

I don’t know what made me say it, but I did. “I’m eighteen now. Nineteen in a few months.”

A light lit up behind Grayson’s eyes, the kind of light I tended to see from many passersby. That awkward week in Myrtle Beach with Nathan had hammered home that I was  _ attractive _ . When I was in elementary school, I was that troublesome, gangly kid with the weird haircuts who couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes at a time. And having never been attracted to girls, I hadn’t understood the looks they sent my way until those two girls approached me on the boardwalk with that flyer. The looks they sent my way had made me feel  _ good _ and since then, I had been aware of many others noticing me.

Grayson looked at me that way now. There was no mistaking it. And if I was aware of that look…he must know that I gazed upon him with that same expression countless times.

Now what to do with this information? If he found me attractive, he would have moved on that by now. Wouldn’t he have?

When I looked back at Grayson’s face, the look was gone, and it was easy to convince myself that I had imagined it to begin with. Two and a half years of having him as the centerpiece of my sexual fantasies had caused me to overread a simple expression. Besides, even if he  _ did  _ find me attractive, he wouldn’t necessarily act on it. Just because you were physically attracted to someone, it didn’t mean you were ready to jump into a physical relationship with them. Advice that I should probably take to heart and actually follow.

We finished our stretches, and Grayson hesitated. Something was clearly on his mind, but he didn’t know how to approach the subject. Finally, he fished his keys from his pocket and sent a nod my way. “Well, see ya. Let me know when you want to do this again.”

And with that, he was gone.

Immediately when I got home, I jumped in the shower. My body was already warming up before I stepped under the stream of water. When I closed my eyes, I could still see that expression on Grayson’s face, but my mind twisted it from simple appreciation of physique to  _ hunger  _ and sexual need. In my mind, we were still at the park, but no one was around. He pushed me against a tree and kissed me roughly, his facial hair prickling me, the bark rough against my back. Not one to waste time, I would use one hand to pull him closer and the other to push into his track pants and wrap around his dick. Under the hot water of the shower, I began to stroke myself, already halfway hard just from my vivid imaginings.

The fantasy continued simply. We would continue to kiss against that tree, our hands on each other’s members. I would keep the pace slow, teasing, wanting to make this moment last forever. My left hand ghosted up my sides as I imagined what Grayson’s hands might do. My obliques tensed under the touches of my hand, and a wave of warmth spread from my touch to my groin. I looked down and enjoyed watching the sight of my hands touching my sides and dick. I thought my size was above average and once more wondered what Grayson’s dick would look like. Moaning, I imagined how it would feel in my hand, hot and hard yet so soft.

As my body continued to respond to my self-pleasure, I thought about the dildo hidden away in my suitcase. Isaiah had in fact left it for me as a gift, and I used it frequently. Recently, though, I had thought about getting another one, a thicker one, the girth of my current one just not feeling like  _ enough _ . But just the thought of walking into a sex shop killed my resolve. What if I saw someone I knew? I would be absolutely mortified if I were caught buying a dildo. And the thought of buying one online was even worse. I shared an Amazon account with my parents, so I would never be able to search for one. That shit would show up on their home page every time they logged in. “Previous browsing history: butt toys for your gay son. Please think about your son using butt toys as he does gay things to his butt.”

I would just have to finish pleasuring myself without my silver friend. It’s not like my hand wouldn’t do the trick.

A knock at the bathroom door, then Mom’s voice. “Alex, you didn’t fall asleep in there, did you?”

Oh, shit. How long had I been standing under this running water? The temperature was cooling down, so it had been quite a while. “Finishing up now, Mom!” I called back. Once I was sure she had walked away, I pointed at my erection and said, “Sorry, Little Alex, but I’ll need to make this fast. Get ready!”

I went straight to my go-to, guaranteed to cum, quick-time fantasy. It wasn’t anything special, just something that so far had a 100% success rate. In it, I was sitting on Grayson’s couch watching TV. Grayson would descend the stairs, straight out of a shower, towel wrapped around his waist. He meets my eyes and starts running his hands over his body, arching into his touches, letting out small sounds if you knew to listen closely. My eyes would follow his hand as it traced the neatly groomed hairs down his chest and to the towel. The towel would drop, and his hand would continue until he was gripping his length. With his other hand, one finger would beckon me forward. I would drop to my knees and take him in my mouth as deep as I could. He would groan from the sensation and place his hands on the back of my head. Knowing what pace I could keep up with, he would rock his hips back and forth, and I would suck. Sometimes I could almost feel his dick hitting the back of my throat, could almost taste his precum, could almost feel the grip of his fingers twining in my hair, pushing me forward forward forward—

With a gasp, I released, my cum catching my fingers. I spread it along my dick, breathing heavily, imagining it was Grayson’s seed instead. As quickly as it came (ha!), the water just as quickly washed it away.

I finished up in the shower, spending much less time on the shampoo and soap than I did with the jerking off. After I toweled dry, I spent some time on my hair in the mirror. My body was still buzzing pleasantly as I headed to my old room. Feeling  _ really good _ , I spent some extra time with my clothes, then took some pictures of myself. I rarely used my Instagram, but I posted what I thought was the best picture. I was on my way out the bedroom door, when a sudden thought crossed my mind. Closing my bedroom door, I stood in front of the floor-length mirror my parents had added and just  _ looked _ . Even though I had just jerked off, I felt heat pool through my body once more.

Positioning myself in front of the mirror, I unzipped my pants and pulled them down around my hips. I tried to tease myself to semi-hardness, but my already spent dick wasn’t having any of it. Oh, well. I adjusted my pants and underwear until I had myself in the best light. Then I raised my shirt, flexed my abs, and snapped a picture of my reflection in the mirror.

_ Ohh… _

It looked a heck of a lot like some of the pictures I jerked off to while scrolling through Instagram. I fixed my clothes, then posted that one as well.

Far into the following week, I was still getting likes and comments. I was also getting a lot of private messages, most of which I deleted. A few of the unsolicited dick pics I saved for later masturbation material, but I didn’t respond to any of them.

Once school was back in full swing, I spent most of the week longing for Saturdays. True to his word, Grayson would drive out to a park near campus, I would bike over, and we would jog together. I never cared about my time, but Grayson became quite competitive with himself, always striving to improve his time. For myself, I was just glad for the opportunity to continue to train my stamina for soccer.

The rest of the week, I focused on homework and classes. I frequented the gym on campus and even got together a group of people that would go the same time every week. I purposely kept my workload hectic enough that it would keep my thoughts from straying towards terrible things, but it also caused me to fall asleep by ten every night.

It was easy to fall into the routine, and it wasn’t until a conversation with Ben and Marcus that I realized I hadn’t had any sexual contact with anyone other than myself for over a year, since Isaiah. I still had his number in my phone, and we still masturbated over video chat together from time to time, but we never did get together after…that time.

Ben was still talking about his most recent meet up with his girlfriend when I interrupted, “What day is it?”

Taken aback by the suddenness of the question, Ben answered, “Friday. Why?”

“I’m going to take a nap, then I’m going to a party tonight. And at that party, I’m going to find someone to take home.”

Marcus glared at me. “Don’t forget I live there, too, roomie. What am I supposed to do?”

I waggled my eyebrows in his direction in what I assumed was a very unsuggestive way. “You could always join us, of course.” Marcus put some force behind the playful punch to my arm, and I rubbed at it, laughing. “Just kidding. I’ll figure something out. Or you could, you know…hang out in the common room while I turn our room into the cummin’ room.” Another punch to my arm had me laughing even harder.

The best thing about college is that if you find yourself with the urge to party, you had dozens of options. Ben agreed to join me so he could take his new girl out. It turned out her sorority was putting on a themed party, so I agreed to meet them at nine thirty. Knowing I would regret it if I didn’t, I headed back to the dorm for a power nap in hopes I’d be able to stay up past midnight.

Now I understood why the fairy godmother wanted Cinderella home so early. Once you got older, it became damn hard to stay up late.

I watched YouTube tutorials on different hairstyles and tried something new. Not sure if I liked it or not, I shrugged, took a picture, and uploaded it to Instagram. My account had recently been accumulating quite the following, and my already too big for the room ego was enjoying all the attention. I chose my clothes with care and was quite happy with the results.

Glancing at the clock, I still had plenty of time but chose to head out early instead. When I arrived, the party was barely getting started. Two girls in the sorority threw cheap plastic flower necklaces over my head and suggested I get “lei’d.” Huh. How fitting. That’s exactly what I was here to do.

Before I had left my room, I spent five minutes staring at the mirror repeating to myself, “I will not overdrink. I will not overdrink.” But self-promises crumble quite fragilely when you’re faced with free booze.

I was already tipsy by the time Ben arrived and introduced me to his girlfriend. She was cute, and I tried to remember her name but immediately forgot. I got the three of us beers and waved aside the nagging thoughts about getting too drunk for my own good. When I got to drinking, I got bold, and when I got bold, I tended to get to do the sexing, which is what I was there for.

Luckily for me, there were  _ lots  _ of guys at the party. Unfortunately, these guys were here for the sorority girls. I hadn’t planned on that. I forgot most of the male population was straight. Dozens of girls hit on me, though, which was nice boost to my self-esteem, and I danced with a lot of them, even kissing some of them. Well, there. Even if I didn’t get to suck some dick, at least I got to suck some face.

But it wasn’t the same. Maybe I was trying too hard, sending out the wrong signals. Clearly, I was sending out  _ some  _ kind of signal, just the wrong frequency.

Before I knew it, midnight had already passed, and I hadn’t even seen anyone that caught my eye. For a minute, I thought about asking a girl to suck my dick but decided against it. In all honesty, I probably wouldn’t be able to cum, and I wouldn’t know what to do with her to reciprocate. I definitely wouldn’t make her cum.  _ Could _ girls cum? If Japanese cartoons were to be believed, girls could cum actual bucketloads, but I don’t think that was anatomically correct.

Moping, I headed back to my dorm. I saw Marcus hanging in the common room, and I flopped on the couch next to him. “Marcus, we have a problem. Operation Get Laid was a failure.”

Marcus leaned away from me. “Well, it smells like Operation Get Stinking Drunk was a success.”

A few others were in the common room with us, and one boy nearby snickered. He was kind of cute. I pointed at him and said, “Hey! How would you like to assist in my completion of Operation Get Laid? In doing so, you would, too, complete Operation Get Laid.”

The boy flushed bright red. He was very young looking and fairly short, probably barely reaching my shoulder. But he had to be a freshman, right? I mean, they wouldn’t let high school kids in here, would they?

I sat up straighter and turned my full attention on him. “Hey, what’s your name?”

I didn’t think he was going to answer. He glanced at the group of people near him, but I couldn’t tell if he was a part of them and looking for assistance with the crazy drunk guy on the couch or if he just wanted to check if they were eavesdropping. He sent a separate glance toward Marcus, then finally said, “Cole.”

“How old are you, Cole?”

Before that moment, I was sure no human being could flush that deeply, but Cole proved me wrong. He had very light skin, very light hair, and very light eyes. I’m sure he sunburned easily.

“I’m nineteen,” he mumbled. “This is my second year here.”

Oh, wow. Then he looked  _ really  _ young for his age.

I motioned my head toward the front door. “I’m going to go for a walk and hope the cold air helps me sober up a little. If you’d like to join me, I’ll wait for ten minutes right outside. Take your time to think it over. Otherwise, it was very nice meeting you, Cole.”

The ten minutes passed very slowly. It was late February, which in my personal opinion always felt like the coldest month. My jacket was fairly warm, but I hadn’t brought gloves. I went to tuck my hands in my armpits when I noticed I was still wearing that stupid flower necklace. Tearing it from my neck, I tossed it in the trash.

“I thought that looked nice on you.”

Cole’s voice was very quiet, barely above a whisper. Turning, I took him in as an ensemble. His clothes were baggy, and he pushed his scarf up over his face like he was trying to hide behind it. The tip of his nose, his cheeks, and his ears had already turned red from the cold. He looked like a picture you’d find on the front of a Christmas card.

I held out my hand, and he very cautiously took it. His eyes darted around once more, and I could tell he was nervous, but no one was around. I pulled him into my chest and kissed the top of his head. When he didn’t pull away, I bent down and gently kissed his cheek. I was getting hard, so I took his hand and placed it over my bulge. “Still interested?” I whispered in his ear.

If I hadn’t been watching carefully, I would have missed the slight movement of his head. I pressed my lips lightly to his and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. When we parted, I said, “It’s very cold. I don’t know whose idea it was to take a walk out here, but it’s got to be below freezing by now. What do you say about taking this inside?”

Another tiny nod. “My roommate won’t be in tonight,” Cole whispered. “He’s with his girlfriend.”

“Then let me tell my roommate he can head back to our room.” I quickly texted Marcus, then slipped my hand back into Cole’s. “Lead the way.”

Cole’s side of the dorm room was quiet and tidy. He had no personal effects that I could see, other than a laptop. Everything else he owned had been provided by the dorm. His roommate’s side, on the other hand, was very lived in. Clothes, empty drink bottles, and food wrappers were strewn about. He had two trashcans, and both of them were overflowing. I couldn’t imagine being as spartan as Cole and having to live with such a slob. Luckily, both Marcus and I were equal levels of messy but also knew how to clean up before things got out of control.

Upon entering the room, Cole hesitated, but I led him over to the bed and sat next to him. Picking up where we had left off, I continued to kiss him softly, as if he might break. My tongue longed to push into his mouth, but I kept it at bay for now. I’d let Cole determine the pace.

“We can take this as slow as you’d like,” I whispered in his ear. Cole froze and tried to hide behind his scarf once more. I unwound it and dropped it to the floor. Kissing the shell of his ear, I asked, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Cole reddened once more, and I found myself thinking how cute that was. “I’ve never…with a boy…” His voice trailed off, and he couldn’t meet my eyes.

Ah. First time.

I thought back to my first time and how wantonly I had behaved, practically  _ demanding  _ Isaiah to fuck me. But, no… _ that _ hadn’t really been my first time, had it? I thought back even further, to my experience with Graham. I had started that evening thinking that if I could just kiss him forever, I would be complete, and as much as I tried to forget the rest of that date, Graham really had been very attentive during the hand job. He was a great kisser, and his touches responded to the noises I was making, giving me pleasure where I wanted it and backing off from the spots that didn’t elicit a better response.

So, which was it with Cole? No other way to find out than to ask.

Trying to keep him at ease, I kissed his cheeks, his eyebrows, his chin, and finally, the tip of his nose. “How far have you gone before?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I’ve done stuff with girls before. But lately I…I’ve been coming to terms that I might be bisexual. Or gay. I’m not sure yet.”

“I can help with that,” I said. Pressing our lips back together, I was surprised when Cole was the one to slip his tongue into my mouth. Gingerly, I sucked on it while my hands started working on stripping away our heavy outer clothes. My mouth moved away from his and drifted along his jawline. His skin was so soft, and I couldn’t get enough of it.

Jackets finally out of the way, I went to work on the rest of our clothes. When my fingers touched Cole’s bare skin, he jumped. “Cold!”

I pressed my fingertips to my face and found them unpleasantly chilled. “Sorry.” Rubbing my hands together brought some warmth back, but Cole still involuntarily winced away from my touch. “We can’t have that. I’ll need to find another way to warm my hands.” Bringing them together, I slid them between Cole’s thighs. “There. That should help.”

Cole hesitated, but I waited. He pointed at my shirt and said, “I want to take your shirt off, but you’ll need to move your hands to do so.”

Begrudgingly, I removed my hands from his thighs, and Cole stood up in order to pull my shirt over my head. “Scoot back,” he ordered, and I complied, hoping he’d continue to open up as we continued the evening. I kept inching backward until my legs were more fully on the bed, stretched out in front of me. Once Cole was satisfied with where I was, he sat on my thighs, facing me, his legs folded underneath him on either side of my own. “Put your hands under your butt to warm them up.” Once again, I complied.

Cole ran his hands all over my upper body, marveling at everything he touched. He poked my upper arm and grinned shyly. “It’s so firm,” he said, then poked his own arm to show me the difference. His finger made a slight dimple in the flesh where he poked it. “I’ve never touched someone with such strong arms before.”

“I have to keep myself in shape for soccer,” I told him. “I work out a lot.”

He ran his hand flat down my abdomen. In the position I was in, with my hands tucked under my butt and no wall to lean against, my abs were contracted in order to keep myself in an upright position. They rippled under Cole’s touch, and he did it again, just to watch. The light sensation tickled, and I almost lost my balance as I relaxed the muscle for a minute.

“Don’t work out any more than this,” Cole told me. “This much muscle is…perfect. Too much more is…” he shook his head.

Sure my hands had warmed up by now, I tried once more to lift Cole’s shirt over his head. He didn’t flinch away this time, so I took that as a good sign. His nipples were such a light pink that I almost didn’t see them. I took one between my fingers and rubbed. When he didn’t respond, I put my hands on his back and drew him closer to me. My mouth lazily placed kisses along his chest and stomach, wherever it could reach. Cole ran his fingers through my hair and arched towards me.

Cole was light, and I was easily able to shift our positions so that I was lying down with him on top of me. Gripping his hips, I pressed myself upwards into him, grinding. Cole was wearing an extra layer of pants due to the cold, and I grunted in frustration when I was unable to feel him rubbing against me. Rolling us over so we were laying side by side facing each other, I got to work unbuttoning and removing the rest of our clothes. Cole watched my hands, eyes hazy and mouth slightly parted, moving his hips and knees to assist with his clothing removal.

Completely unwrapped, I once more closed the distance between us, drawing him into a deep kiss. Adjusting our hips ever so slightly, we rubbed our lengths together. Usually the loud one, I stayed uncharacteristically silent so I could hear the soft, quiet gasps our contact was eliciting. My hand encompassed our two members as best it could, and I languidly thrust against it. Cole clutched at my arm and tensed up, whimpering, bucking against my hand and cock, trying to get more contact. Leaning closer, I placed tender kisses along his neck and collar bone. I kept the same agonizingly slow pace, enjoying teasing Cole and pushing him to his limit.

Warm, wet liquid coated my hand as Cole came with a gasp. He clutched my shoulders through his orgasm before collapsing back against the bed. Unwilling to leave myself unfinished, I rolled Cole onto his side, facing away from me, and pulled him into my chest. I rubbed my erection against and between his ass cheeks. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with skin as soft as his.

From behind, I wrapped my arms around his chest and pulled him flush against me. Placing kisses along his neck and shoulders, I continued grinding against his backside. It wasn’t the same as having someone jerk me off and I knew I wouldn’t finish this way, but it felt too good to stop.

After a few minutes of this, Cole turned his head and asked, “Are you…to…me?” His voice was so quiet that I couldn’t hear him.

“Hmm?”

A little louder, but still barely audible, Cole whispered, “Are you going to fuck me?”

I didn’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. For the moment, I had been just enjoying the sensations I was feeling, not considering much else.

I looked down his body and considered it. He was so small that he looked fragile enough to break. “Do you have any lube?” I asked. Remembering the previous fiasco with Isaiah, I remembered my father’s words and hastily added, “And condoms?” I mentally smacked myself. Once again, here I was, ass naked with someone I had just met, throwing myself headfirst into what felt good at the moment, consequences be damned.

Cole shook his head. “No, I don’t have any of…that kind of stuff.”

“Then, I guess I won’t.” I brought his hand to my mouth and placed a kiss on each of his fingertips. “Besides, I’ve never been the one to go inside someone else, and I wouldn’t want to hurt you on accident. But if you want to fuck me, I’d be down. It’ll be uncomfortable without lube, but”—I shrugged—“I’d manage.”

Cole eyed me warily. “I don’t think… I can’t picture myself topping you. You’re, like, twice as big as I am.”

Guiding his hand down my body, I pressed it against my cock. “Then, I guess, we’ll have to think of other ways to have fun.”

The hand on my shaft was tender and timid, but the warmth and pressure were astounding. Sighing, I nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck. I let Cole work my length at his own pace, his hand steadily finding a rhythm. As he continued, I felt a wet tapping against my leg, his cock having recovered enough to get hard again, precum already leaking from the tip. I grabbed his hips and pulled him back into our previous position, our groins pressed together. Cole’s hands were smaller than mine, and he was having trouble accommodating our combined girth. I put my hand over his, completely covering it, and continued thrusting.

“I’m getting close again,” Cole mumbled into my ear.

Moaning in response, I picked up the pace on our organs. As Cole came a second time, I took myself in my hand and finished myself off. Once we caught our breath, I found my shirt and used it to clean ourselves off. Too tired to head back to my room, I pulled Cole back into my arms and against my chest. Drawing a blanket haphazardly over our bodies, I quickly fell asleep.

It was nearly nine before I woke up, Cole still soundly asleep in my arms. As carefully as I could, I disentangled our limbs, but even with my extra caution, Cole still woke up when I started moving. Kissing him gently on the forehead, I said, “Good morning.”

Cole looked genuinely surprised to see me. “I thought for sure you would have snuck out in the night.”

Taken aback, I asked, “Why would you think that?”

“Well, you  _ were  _ pretty drunk… I thought once you sobered up, you would have ducked out. I mean, this  _ was  _ just a onetime thing…right?”

Ouch. That statement shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. I mean, he was right…wasn’t he? “Is that what you want?” I asked. The feeling of his burning skin against mine brought forth a renewed desire in the morning light.

An incredulous gaze was turned in my direction. “You can’t be serious. How many other hook-ups have you tried to turn into relationships?”

Double ouch. “More than I’d care to admit,” I muttered. Moving to the edge of the bed, I started pulling clothes back on, putting on the bare minimum that was acceptable for walking the dormitory hallways (basically just my underpants, seeing as how I had used my own damn shirt as a cum rag). Cradling the rest of my clothes in my arms, I headed toward the door. As I departed, I called over my shoulder, “Meet me in the common room if you ever want to do that again!” Whistling, I headed back to my room.

Boy, the harsh light of day sure does bring your nighttime choices into a new perspective.

Stopping to pee in the communal bathroom, I looked down at my stomach and saw some dried leftovers I had missed during clean up the night before. Great. Not having brought soap or a towel with me, I knew I’d need to head back to my room before taking a shower.

I entered my dorm room with my usual cheer and gusto, knowing damn well that Marcus would still be sleeping but choosing to burst into song anyway. From Marcus’s bed, two heads turned in my direction. “Well, well, well,” I taunted, crossing my hands over my chest. “What do we have here?”

The girl, mortified, quickly drew the blankets over her head to cover her face. Marcus, on the other hand, shouted and threw a pillow in my direction. “Oh, fuck off, Alex. Don’t be an ass.”

Laughing, I snatched the pillow out of the air and tossed it back to him. “Don’t mind me, sweet Romeo Montague. I’m just grabbing things for a shower, then I’ll get out of your hair.”

True to my word, I gathered up my belongings, even going so far as keeping my back to Marcus’s date to give her privacy. Once out of their way, I immediately texted Marcus a series of heart emojis as well as, “OMG what if we came at the same time???” By the time I had finished my shower, he had texted back, “Fuck. You.”

A separate text was waiting for me, one that caused my heart to race with joy. “Jogging today? Usual place and time?”

What can I say? I’m a predictable man of simple pleasures. One text from Grayson can cause my mood to soar above the clouds.

Dropping my toiletries off in my room (and feeling extra generous towards my roomie’s feelings, I only opened the door a crack, just enough to slide them inside, and didn’t even offer a snide remark), I was suddenly filled with a surge of boundless energy. After stopping by the cafeteria for breakfast, I still had about an hour before I needed to leave to meet Grayson at the park. Instead of doing the normal thing and finding a way to relax on campus before the meeting time, I went ahead and biked to the park. There was a pull up bar near where we usually met, and I alternated between pull ups, push-ups, and eagerly checking the time on my phone.

Grayson arrived fifteen minutes earlier than usual, and I had to hold myself back from running up to his car with joy. He seemed surprised to see me there already. “If you were ahead of schedule, you should have called me. I could have come earlier.”

“It’s alright,” I deflected. “I just got here a few minutes ago. I haven’t been here long.”

We started our warm-up stretches, and Grayson started to ramble excitedly. “I finally moved into a new house. It’s actually still a renta because I still haven’t made up my mind about whether or not I want to move. In the meeting, the higher ups said that our company will be merging with another company in two years, so there will be some more changes to watch out for. So I didn’t want to buy a house, then take a big hit if I tried to sell it in two years. Anyway, the place happens to be a lot closer to this park than I had anticipated.” He pulled out his phone and showed me pictures. We started our run, and he continued to babble about his new house, describing in minute detail how much better it was than his previous rental.

A warm smile pulled across my face, and I was content to simply listen to Grayson’s excited chatter. He was usually more reserved, rarely spending so many words all at once. He must have realized it as well, for he stopped talking unexpectedly and began laughing.

“Sorry,” he apologized, still chuckling, “but when you get older, you’ll understand how exciting it is to move into a new home.” He glanced at me and observed, “And look at you. You look happier than normal, too. Any big news?”

My brain scrabbled for purchase, not expecting his question in the slightest. I couldn’t very well tell him that I was just happy to be near him and spend time with him, so I thought up the quickest substitute that I could. “Oh. I went on a date last night.”

“Oh?” Grayson elbowed me playfully. “Good for you!” He smirked and added, “I did, too, actually.”

My stomach turned in on itself.  _ A date? _ Jealously roared unfairly within me. Yes, I would hold this double standard that I could date whoever I wanted so long as the object of my affection (obsession?) stayed single and off limits to everyone except for me.

The longer I stayed quiet, the more awkward it would be, I chided myself. Elbowing him back, I responded, “Well, what do you know? It could have been a double date. What’s she like?”

Grayson’s face twisted. “Oh. I thought I told—” He shook his head, plastering back on that neutral expression I so often saw him wear. “A large part of the reason my ex-wife and I got a divorce was because I told her I wanted to exclusively date men.”

Afterwards, it was reassuring to find out that I really did trip over a large tree root and not just over my own surprise. Grayson helped me stand up, and together we brushed the leaves and pine needles from my clothes.

“I’ve got to say, I’ve never seen that reaction before, though it was a tad overdramatic.”

“Oh, ha, ha,” I deadpanned. I tested my ankle and was glad that I hadn’t sprained it. Once we started jogging again, I said, “Though, to be fair, that was quite the bombshell to drop on me.” 

He snorted. “I’m fairly certain I’ve told you I was bisexual before.”

“And I’m fairly certain I would remember that.” Glaring accusingly at him, I retorted, “Though you tend to tell me nothing about yourself, then drop big surprises all at once.”

Laughter suited him, and I genuinely enjoyed being the cause of that laughter. If I could spend every minute of my life trying to make him happy, then I would consider that a life well fulfilled.

Holy shit. It really was love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :D I love reading my comments!! Keep them coming <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys. This is the first chapter with no explicit sexing. But I will make sure to make it up to you in future chapters! Promise! Also, this is my absolute favorite chapter. :) Let me know what you think in the comments! :D

The rest of our jog that afternoon was fairly tame by comparison. Grayson steered the conversation back to inane, idle chatter, as he always tended to do after giving me perception altering news. My thoughts raced to connect dots that most certainly did not exist as I ran through past conversations in my head, trying to find clues alluding to him being interested in men. There’s no way! I would  _ remember something like that _ .

We were almost finished with our jog when the temperature suddenly dropped and the wind picked up. Large, heavy drops of rain fell on our heads as we raced to his car. “Get in!” Grayson called as thunder rumbled in the distance.

Grateful for the dry interior, I wiped as much water from my face as I could. Grayson turned on the heat and handed me leftover drive through napkins from the glove box. Pulling up the weather app on his phone, he frowned. “It looks like this storm will keep up for at least a few more hours. I’ll toss your bike in the back, then I can drive you to your dorm…”

A bolt of lightning cut through the dark clouds, and I jumped at the following clap of thunder. I watched the rain pour over my new bike, thinking about how it was now the perfect lightning rod. “Do you think it’s safe to grab it? With my terrible luck, I mean, you might get struck by lightning.”

Another bolt of lightning lit up the area, and I saw Grayson’s fingers tighten against the steering wheel. “Well, if we don’t grab it now, and I drive you back to the dorms, then you won’t have it for a whole week.”

“That’s fine. Or…”

Have I mentioned that I’m terrible? I feel like that’s been a running, repeated theme throughout this tale of love and loss.

“Or?” Grayson prompted.

“Or you could show me your new house that you’re so excited about. Then, after the storm’s over, you could drop me back off at the park and I can ride my bike back.”

My suggestion was met with silence. Grayson’s eyebrows knitted together as he though it through, but the way he chewed his tongue and frowned caused my nerves to twist in an unpleasant way. Just exactly what was he thinking?

“Sure, that could work.”

The rain grew even heavier, pelting the truck with such force that we couldn’t hear each other speak. Even driving as slowly and cautiously as we did along the slippery roads, we still made it to his new place in under half an hour. Luckily, he had a garage we could pull into and wouldn’t have to make a dash to the door through the storm.

I half expected to find Brayden on the couch playing video games, but, no, Brayden was at UNC. In fact, no one else would be home. It would be just the two of us. Alone.

Oh, shit, I had made a huge mistake. There was no way I could trust myself alone with Grayson.

He showed me around, pointing out all the upgrades from his previous place. I didn’t know what a “half-bath” was, and I didn’t give two shits about his water heater, but if it made him happy, then I was glad.

The house was built for a single homeowner and wasn’t very large. Before too long, we were done with the tour. The storm continued to rage outside. Grayson admitted, “Sorry, Alex, I don’t really know what to do with you now.”

I pointed at the TV. “I’m sure there’s a hockey game on.”

The previously garrulous Grayson from the park had disappeared back into stoic, introspective Grayson. It wasn’t fair. He was the one who would always reveal deeply personal information about himself before completely clamming up and shutting down. Yet I felt like the one being punished here.

Fifteen minutes into the game, Grayson still hadn’t said a word to me. Neither, though, had he made an excuse and left me all alone. Instead, he sat rigidly still beside me on the couch, staring straight ahead.

I needed a plan. I mean, not a plan to have sex with him. Because that’s the plan I wanted to make. But, no, I wouldn’t do that.

No, I needed a plan to make what could be an afternoon of simply spending time with the man who I had obsessed over since I was sixteen years old into something pleasant…instead of wasting that time sitting in silence.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure. Remember where it is?”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks to your wonderful tour guide skills, I think I can find the room with the toilet. Or the half-toilet. What is a half-bath, anyway?”

“It means there’s no shower or tub.”

“Oh.”

Halfway out of the room, Grayson called me back. He was hovering anxiously. “Want anything to eat or drink?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Once in the bathroom, I sat on top of the toilet seat and ran my hands over my face. How could I trigger talkative Grayson once more?

Something in the trashcan caught my eye: a silvery wrapper. Now, I’m one of those normal people who thinks that rummaging in other people’s trash is inappropriate and rude. Also very weird and something only an absolutely insane person would do.

I grabbed some toilet paper and used it to move aside the top pieces of trash then pluck the wrapper out of the trash.

It was a condom wrapper, and right underneath was the used condom.

_ Holy. Shit. _

What the living fuck was I doing rummaging through the trash like some kind of deranged racoon? What Grayson did in his own home was his own fucking business. He didn’t need to be mindful of sex-crazed teenagers rooting through his trash looking at his personal business. Besides, if I hadn’t come over at the last possible minute, I’m sure he would have brought the trash out, just in case some irrational psycho might possibly—

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Wouldn’t a used condom be found in the trash can closer to the bedroom? Why was it thrown away downstairs, near the living room and the kitchen?

When had Grayson grown silent? When we had sat on the couch.

_ Oh, my God, he and his date fucked on that couch last night! I was sitting right on top of Grayson orgasm ohmygodohmygod— _

At the absolute minimum, I needed to get out of this fucking bathroom. I dropped the wrapper back in the trash can, putting the toilet paper I had in my hand back on top of it. I solemnly swore I would take the secret of what I had done here to my grave.

Flushing the toilet, I then washed my hands at the sink. Mouth, I am warning you here. Not a fucking word of this to anyone.

Back in the living room, Grayson had brought out two diet sodas and a bowl of pretzels. He had changed the channel from hockey to basketball. Pointing at the TV, he said, “I hope you don’t mind. I don’t like hockey.”

“That’s fine,” I answered. I actually didn’t like basketball, but I wasn’t about to tell him to change it back.

Popping open my soda, I tried my hand at nonchalance. “So, how was the date last night?”

Nonchalance is not a gift everyone receives at birth, nor is it a skill that I have honed with practice. My tone clearly held a second meaning behind the words.

The blood drained from his face. “Fuck, you saw it, didn’t you? And don’t lie to me. I could see it in the trash as I showed you the house.” He dropped his face into his hands, embarrassed. “God damn it, I’ve been trying to think of an excuse to go dump those cans this whole time.”

Trying to buy myself some time to think, I continued to drink my soda. After nearly half the can, however, my mind was still abuzz with chaos.  _ He wasn’t denying it! And  _ he already admitted that it was  _ gay _ sex!  _ Gaysexgaysexgay— _

Putting the soda back on the table, I tried to sound aloof, like this was a situation one found oneself in fairly frequently. “Well, that’s nice to hear that the date went well. Mine went well, too.”

Appalled, Grayson turned to face me, his mouth partially agape.

I amended, “Well, maybe not quite as well as yours.”

Grayson groaned. “You really are a right ass, you know?”

“I hear that all the time.” Suddenly, I needed to know more. Jealousy demanded to know who on this imperfect Earth had Grayson deemed suitable to date. What did this guy have that I didn’t? What did Grayson see in him that he didn’t see in me? As casually as I could, I said, “So tell me about him. Is he nice? Does he treat you well? How long have you been dating?”

“Oh. It wasn’t, ah”—Grayson cleared his throat and would not meet my eyes—“it wasn’t that kind of date.”

Well, hot damn. “How’s that for the shoe being on the other foot? I seem to remember a certain someone giving  _ me _ a lecture about sleeping with strangers I just met.”

Eyes narrowed dangerously, Grayson growled, “I’m  _ older _ than you.  _ And _ I used a condom, you little shit.” Sighing heavily, mood changing drastically, he sagged into the couch cushion and closed his eyes. “Alex, I never know how to treat you. You’re my son’s age. You’re my son’s  _ best friend _ .”

Ouch, I think that hurt even more than when he used to call me “kid.”

“Yet here I am, once again talking to you about my sexual exploits. I mean, I would never in a million years tell Brayden any of the things I’ve told you— _ especially _ not about my early relationship with his mom. He doesn’t know any of that. He doesn’t know I’m bisexual. But here I’ve unloaded  _ adult  _ things on you.” He finally opened his eyes, and it was like gazing into two clear pools of water. “What am I supposed to do here, Alex?”

Bending me over this couch and fucking me would be a nice start.

Oh, shit, please tell me I didn’t say that out loud.

From the unchanged expression on his face, it seemed like I managed to keep that thought inside my head. Thank Christ.

I chose my words slowly and carefully. How uncharacteristic! Maybe I really was growing up. “Yes, you’re my best friend’s dad.” Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever called Brayden my best friend before, but honestly, he probably is. “But we spend a lot of time together. We both enjoy similar hobbies. I kind of…think of you as my friend, really. And I know that the age difference is a hot topic between us, but I’m going to keep getting older, and as I do, it’s going to seem less and less strange that you’re friends with someone sixteen years younger. I mean, don’t you have friends at work that are ten, twenty, or even thirty years older than you? At what point is it not weird anymore?”

I wish I had a word for the expression that crossed Grayson’s face. This was at least the second time I had seen it. When was the other time…? Recently, I know. Maybe a few weeks ago?

Grayson stood up quickly. “I’m going to go outside to think. I’ll be back.”

Well, I’m sure that’s not the worst reaction he could have had, but—

“Wait!”

The backdoor was halfway opened before Grayson remembered the whole reason I was here to begin with: There was one hell of a thunderstorm raging outside.

Slowly closing the door, he turned back to face me. “Well. That was embarrassing.” He pointed upstairs. “I’m going to go upstairs to think. It takes me a long time to process things. Please don’t be offended.” Muscles tensed, he turned away from me.

I couldn’t let him walk off like this. Needing to lighten the mood, I sprang off the couch and shouted, “I have something to confess!”

Shocked and panicked didn’t begin to describe the look on Grayson’s face as he whipped around to face me. “What is it?” he queried.

“I hate basketball! I’m changing the channel back to hockey.”

Shock slowly gave way to confusion which then gave way to levity. A modest chuckle rapidly swelled into a guffaw. “God damn it, Alex, you really do have a gift for getting people to like you.”

“Each and every one of my positive attributes simultaneously doubles as one of my greatest character flaws.”

His smile softened. “I don’t believe that for a second. And I don’t think you do, either.”

Grayson went upstairs to “process things” for almost two hours. I continued to expect him back downstairs at any minute, turning at the slightest noise, assuming he was back. Not having gotten permission to help myself to the kitchen or the rest of the house, I sat frozen on the couch, flipping back and forth between hockey and cartoons. When the soda finally hit my bladder, I didn’t even feel comfortable going back into that damned bathroom, which, in my opinion, had started all of this trouble in the first place.

When he finally reappeared, he had his standard neutral mask back in place. He seemed more put together, too. When he sat on the couch, he seemed relaxed and more at ease than earlier. To me, he said, “You’re right. There’s no reason we can’t be friends. But it will probably take some time for me to adjust to it.”

“Just one question.”

“Shoot.”

Pointing upstairs, I asked, “Can I use your other bathroom?”

Biting his bottom lip, Grayson shook his head. “I wouldn’t. That trash can is even worse.”

“Oh, my God!” I shouted.

Holding up his hands defensively, he said, “Fine, fine, I’ll just go take out the trash. Give me five minutes.”

“I’m starting this friendship by telling you to clean up before company comes over!”

“I would have if I had known I was having company! You were kind of a last-minute thing! That’s why I was so hesitant when you suggested it!”

* * *

True to his word, Grayson began treating me as a friend instead of holding me at arm’s length. It was a subtle shift, over several weeks’ time, but a snowball can quickly become an avalanche. He spoke more freely and easily, much like when he spoke to me about his house, when we were at the park, chattering about everything and nothing. The words tumbled forth, and he laughed more heartily than before. He also started texting me about things other than running, sending memes or random thoughts he had throughout his day. I learned that he was interested in history, especially Northern African history. Before that conversation, I thought Casablanca was a mythical place made up for the movie. I even had to look it up on Google to check if he was bullshitting or not.

Never before had I been happier. Not a moment passed that I didn’t have a grin spread from ear to ear. I kept my phone as close to me as possible, lest I miss a text from him. My friends remarked that I seemed livelier than usual and that the jokes were constantly rolling off my tongue. I think Marcus thought I might be dealing drugs, but I would never risk my soccer scholarship that way. Barely two weeks into the season, three sophomores had been arrested for distribution and possession of marijuana, and it scared me away from the stuff.

The 10k was rapidly approaching, and Grayson and I started meeting up on Wednesdays in addition to our regular Saturdays. He said now that he lived closer, it was fine if we met more frequently.

But with every emotional high came a crash, usually on Sunday mornings, where I faced reality and tried to check myself. There were moments when I felt like I was taking advantage of Grayson, using our friendship as an excuse to stay as close to him as possible. There was no denying now that I was madly, deeply in love with him. Our arrangement could only lead to heartache and heartbreak. Was I willing to risk my sanity and emotional stability just so I could hear him, see him, touch him, for that one extra second now that we were friends?

When I had first laid eyes on him, I realized now that that had been infatuation, pure and simple. The physical attraction I held towards him ran deep though my core, and it had been an immediate reaction the moment he stepped into my life. But nearly three years had passed, and my emotions had grown and changed. The more I got to know him, the more addicted I grew. We  _ clicked _ in the most perfect of ways.

And the more I got to know him, the more I realized how much we had in common. Of course, there were vast differences as well, most of which had to do with our age gap and life experiences. I was very surprised to learn how closely our political views overlapped, though we argued about many state policies. Politics was rarely a subject we broached, however, because it usually ended with Grayson spouting, “You’re just too young to understand,” and me storming off angrily.

Grayson quickly learned that our age difference was still a tender subject for me, but it was hard for him to stay away from the topic. I tried to convey how upset it had made me when he used to call me “kid,” but I couldn’t make him understand. He simply waved his hand and said, “But you  _ were _ a kid. You still  _ are _ a kid.”

“When won’t I be a kid anymore?” I bit through the words angrily, always wondering when we’d stop having this conversation.

But he would just shrug his shoulders. “I don’t know. It just  _ happens _ . Suddenly you realize time has flown by and you’re falling down a pit of responsibilities. No one can prepare you for it, and it’s not a specific moment, but you’ll know it when it happens. Plus,” he smiled around the words, “I have a feeling that when you’re 100 and I’m 116, I’ll still be calling you ‘kid.’”

* * *

In less time than I could prepare for, my second semester of college was over. That following weekend was the 10k, and my parents came out to cheer me on. Mom was surprised to see Grayson there, but I played it off like it was no big deal. We had, of course, already run a 5k together, so what was so wrong with a 10k?

Moms have an uncanny ability to see straight through their bullshitting sons. After it was all over, she pulled me aside and scolded, “The only person who’s going to get hurt at the end of this is you.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

And for a moment, she could see the absolute terror I felt acknowledging that that day  _ would  _ arrive before I locked those feelings back down in the dark.

She never brought it up again.

I had several weeks of free time before summer soccer season started up. Not having any reason to see Grayson, I felt more sexually pent-up than I had since middle school. When my hand no longer cut it, I downloaded a hook-up app. That picture I took the day Dad got me the bike had launched my Instagram account into the thousands of followers range, and since then I had taken a few other semi-risqué pictures of myself, greatly enjoying the feedback I got from strangers objectively appreciating my body. It was an ego high that I couldn’t get enough of, and it made me understand why “Instagram models” became a thing. While my own account wasn’t nearly that popular, I still enjoyed seeing the number of “likes” I had on my pictures.

Anyway, I used one of my most popular Instagram pictures—it was actually a candid picture taken by a friend at soccer practice, not intending to be taken for my account, but I had liked it, and the fact that I was shirtless and sweating made it an instant hit—as my user picture for the app, and within minutes, I already had three messages from other guys at Wake Forest.

And so it was that the beginning of that summer had me behaving more lasciviously than I had ever thought possible. Whenever I felt the urge to fuck, I simply opened the app, scrolled through my messages, found a promising one, and invited him over. Taking caution from past experiences, I made sure to keep plenty of condoms in my room, even using them for blow jobs. I also found it was easier to visit the campus clinic to get checked without my dad in tow.

I was frequently surprised with the people I matched with, sometimes recognizing them from class and even a few from soccer. I tried to stay away from guys that I might run into on a regular basis. Occasionally I saw Cole in the common room, and the awkwardness of it usually meant one or the other of us left the room. If that kind of thing happened with me and another guy on the team, it could completely ruin the team dynamic and might mean the difference between winning and losing a game.

That summer also found me taking many more pictures for my Instagram (keeping the more lurid ones for personal use). My favorites to take were immediately post-coitus, semen covering my stomach. Those I sent to potential lovers over the app. But I also took pictures of myself around campus. With fewer students around during the summer, it was easier to take pictures without people walking through the backgrounds.

One guy I slept with was  _ really _ into the pictures. Thanks to him, I had almost a hundred pictures of that night, many of which were me with my cock in his mouth or taken from his perspective of his dick in my ass. I thought about making one of those pictures the background for my phone but decided that might be inappropriate. We even recorded part of our time together, and he showed me how to make gifs out of the video.

I also got over my irrational embarrassment about visiting a sex store. There were several within walking distance of campus, and I began to build up an admirable collection of dildos, anal beads, cock rings, and more. Mostly what I bought was lube and condoms, and I quickly found out those were a lot cheaper to get at Wal-Mart.

One guy I slept with fairly frequently from the app, Derek, loved to buy me toys of all kinds, including a very expensive dildo modeled after a popular male porn star. He said he enjoyed watching me put all kinds of things up my ass and listening to me moan in extasy. The toys had really increased my sensitivity in my ass, and more than once Derek caused me to cum on a prostate toy without even touching my dick.

Once soccer practice started up, a lot of that sexual energy was spent during the day. The coaches were very pleased with how I had kept up with long-distance running throughout the year but suggested I work more on my sprints. They designed specific exercises for my weak points and were impressed with the amount of progress I showed during training. We discussed my future role on the team, and I couldn’t have been more excited. All the hard work I had been putting into my body since I had picked up my first soccer ball when I was eight years old was actually paying off in an incredible way.

When classes started again, I had to relearn how to balance sports, school, friends, and sex. It had been easy sticking to a routine schedule my first semester because it was simple to follow what I had become accustomed to in high school. Coming off a summer dedicated solely to soccer and sex, it was more challenging to adjust to my workload. Something had to go.

I deleted the sex app. I knew if I kept it on my phone, I would never have the self-control to choose homework over a one-night stand. Plus, even though Marcus and I were still roommates and he would do much for me, I would never again ask him to stay out of the room so I could hook-up with a stranger. At least not every night. Just occasionally.

The first soccer game of the season was rapidly approaching, and I was thrilled to find out I was scheduled to play for nearly the entire game. I texted almost everyone I knew and invited them to the match. My parents showed, of course, but I was pleasantly pleased to see how many friends from high school were able to come to the game. Brayden and several others drove up from UNC for the sole purpose to cheer me on.

The President of the United States himself could have showed, and it wouldn’t have mattered. There was Grayson in the stands. He sat with my parents as well as—to Brayden’s complete astonishment—Brayden’s mom and step-dad. Afterwards Brayden confided that this was the first time he had seen his parents sit together since they signed the divorce papers—and the first time they sat together without bickering since his twelfth birthday.

In front of so many people, I felt like I was shining, burning as brightly as a star. All of the jitters I may have had the previous year about playing in front of large crowds had completely disappeared, and I found I  _ liked  _ being amidst all the attention.

As a midfielder, I felt I did a fairly great job applying what I had learned from the coaches that summer. I may not have scored any points, but in soccer, defending and passing can have more of an overall effect on the game than offensive plays. Our team scored two points, and one of my passes was instrumental to the scoring of the second point. The other team scored only one point, most of their plays getting blocked at midfield throughout the game.

Afterwards, my parents took me out to celebrate. We only went to a family chain restaurant, but I felt like they were taking me to the most expensive place in the city. As an appreciation gift for the Hartmans driving out—actually, I guess now that Brayden’s mom is married again, that’s no longer her last name, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what it was—my parents offered to take them out to dinner as well.

Brayden frantically texted me as we drove to the restaurant. “Dad + Mom + Step-Dad will NOT WORK OUT. Fair warning now!”

Mom insisted that they seemed fairly amicable during the game, Grayson and Craig—that’s right, that’s what his name was—even swapping jokes. When I relayed that information to Brayden, he texted back, “Dad could get along with a wet paper bag…unless it’s MOM. Trust me, disaster will strike tonight.”

We ordered appetizers, and my mom got tipsy off the house margarita. Craig regaled the table with tales of his college days, the main part of his story revolving around a campus-wide hide and seek game played with nearly the entire student body. They way he described finding students in the most unusual places, or the places he himself would hide in, had us roaring with laughter.

Midway through the evening, it suddenly struck me that Grayson had reverted to treating me like “Brayden’s friend.” I first noticed it when Dad said something about a player on the Carolina Panthers. Grayson and I had an intricate, warped joke about that player, and when I went to catch his eye with a smile, he pointedly did not meet my gaze, eyes fixed on my father instead. It made me feel like his whole speech about becoming friends was all a sham, that it was fine if our friendship stayed secret and private but would be shameful if shown in front of friends and family.

Moping, I pulled out of the table-wide conversation to talk to Brayden about how different our college experiences had been so far. He had been seriously dating a girl in his major for almost eight months and suggested more than once that she might be the one he intended to marry. As exciting as his news was, it made me reflect over my past relationships. The only long-term relationship I had been in was with Nathan, but I had slept with enough men that I had lost count. Maybe it was time I tempered my lust and settled down…become a family man.

That didn’t sound so bad so long as it was with the right person. And there was only one right person for me.

Dishes were being cleared and the adults were arguing over who would pay the bill when Brayden checked his phone and started to talk excitedly over us. “—a DNA website, and I’ve been waiting for the results. I just find it all fascinating that they can find out all that information from just spit in a tube. Anyway, I have the results here in this e-mail!”

Brayden’s mom and dad glanced at each other awkwardly. I knew Grayson loved his son fiercely; his only regret was that he absolutely hated the mother. The look he gave his ex-wife was pride for his son mixed with a pang of deep regret for the relationship that they couldn’t work out.

Brayden’s mom had paled—Monica! That was it! Monica and Craig Davis. Grayson professed that he was bad with names, but I’m pretty sure I was worse.

“Why don’t you wait until you get back to school to look at it?” Monica suggested. “It’s getting late. Aren’t those things usually hundreds of pages long?”

My mom was still tipsy from her two-for-one margarita. Louder than necessary, she encouraged, “Have a look, Brayden! I love learning about heritage.”

Grayson said, “Well, I know, Monica, you’re mostly British. I think my dad’s parents were German—”

Brayden flipped the phone around. “So who’s Guatemalan? It says I’m a quarter Guatemalan.”

Silence settled over the table. Grayson’s lips pursed together, and his jaw clenched firmly shut. Monica looked ready to cry. As great of a guy as Craig is, he clearly couldn’t read the situation. Excitedly, he pointed between the two. “Grayson, you’re right about Monica’s heritage, so you’re Guatemalan? That’s so cool! I would have never guessed—”

Cutting Craig off, Grayson asked Brayden, “You’re sure it says Guatemalan? It’s not German?”

While Brayden double checked it, Monica sobbed, “Brayden I told you to wait until you got home to check it.”

“No, Dad, it definitely says Guatemalan. Forty percent British, twenty-five percent Guatemalan, ten percent…I can’t pronounce this. I-x-i-l.” He looked up. “What is that? Is that in Europe?”

Grayson slammed his hands on the table. Pointing a finger in Monica’s face, he thundered, “Victor fucking Vásquez?”

To his credit, Craig immediately stepped between his new wife and her ex-husband. “Grayson, I’m going to need you to calm down—”

The entire restaurant was watching the scene, and a manager was rapidly heading towards us. Monica was wailing, “I was sixteen and  _ terrified _ —”

“Victor fucking Vásquez?” Grayson repeated. “For twenty-two years, you lied to me! Had me raise another man’s—”

With physical effort, he cut himself off and stepped backwards. To my parents, he said, “I’m sorry for making a scene.” To Brayden, he said, “I’m sure you’re just as surprised as I am. Come find me when you’re ready to talk.”

By then, the manager had reached us, and Grayson chose to leave the restaurant with him.

Our poor waitress stood by our table, holding the bill, having witnessed the whole drama unfold, but unable to leave our table until we decided how we were splitting the bill. Dad was first to notice her and break the silence. He handed her a card. “Just put everything on there,” he mumbled. “Give yourself a 30% tip. You deserve it.”

“Maybe I should go check on—” What did I call him at the table, in front of others? He had declared our friendship taboo in front of friends and family, but after that little fiasco, I didn’t know if anyone at this table fit under either of those categories anymore. I skipped over calling him anything, and added, “Make sure he doesn’t, you know, punch a cement pillar and break his hand like someone else at this table has done.”

Mom nodded. To Monica, Craig, and Brayden, she said, “I think there’s a separate entrance around the side. Rick will finish up things here. Why don’t I walk out with you?”

I didn’t stay to see how things were handled. I slipped out the front. Looking in all directions, I began to panic when I couldn’t find Grayson. Taking my phone from my pocket, I called his phone. As it rang, I continued walking through the parking lot, glancing left and right for a sign of him. When I saw his truck, I peeked inside, but he wasn’t there. The call went to voicemail, and I called back.

Finally, he picked up. “What?” His voice was frail, his rage having already burned out.

“Where are you?”

“Is Brayden with you? I’m not ready to see him yet.”

“No. It’s just me.” I bit back the words, “I’m worried about you,” but they still hovered between us.

In the background of the call, I could hear cars driving by, so I walked towards the road. There was a bus stop near the restaurant, and on the covered bench was a seated figure who I suspected was Grayson. Walking closer confirmed my suspicions, and I hung up the phone as I sat down next to him. He stared straight ahead, eyes hollowly watching the cars fly by.

My hand found his, and I wound our fingers together. I refused to look at him to see his expression, choosing instead to pretend this was a normal thing that normal people did when they were comforting their friends.

The minutes ticked slowly by. Grayson’s hand was warm in mine. Neither did he tighten his hand against mine nor did he withdraw from my grasp. He simply…sat, staring and thinking.

I’d let him be the first person to speak. Finding out that the mother of your child was in fact…well, I guess  _ she _ was the mother, but Grayson wasn’t the father. I let that fact swirl around my head. My best friend’s dad wasn’t biologically related to him. Yet Grayson had raised him not knowing that fact, not even having the slightest suspicion. Grayson had already relayed to me how greatly he resented having to spend those years with his ex-wife, staying with her only because of their child together—

My head swam. I couldn’t imagine the kinds of feelings Grayson was trying to process at that moment, but it made my stomach churn. His ex-wife must have had some kind of suspicion that maybe Grayson wasn’t the father of her child. No one got pregnant by accident. She must have known there was a possibility that that other guy could have been the father.

“Why are  _ you _ crying?”

I reached up and wiped at my eyes. “I don’t know,” I snapped. “I’m a very empathetic person!”

Grayson finally withdrew his hand from mine. Standing up from the bench, he reached out towards me. I took his hand, and he pulled me up from the bench. “No more moping,” he demanded. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he tossed his head away from the restaurant. “Walk with me?”

I nodded in response and followed him down the sidewalk. I longed to reach out and take up his hand once more, but he kept them stuffed in his pockets. Either consciously or subconsciously, he would not allow me to make that physical contact again.

Without a particular direction in mind, we continued to amble, walking past various shops and restaurants. We were far enough away from campus that I wasn’t sure what was in the area, so our feet took us where they would. It was a beautiful, clear night. The sun had just set, and the stars were beginning to show up in the sky. In another world, another universe, it could have been a date. Dinner together, then a stroll through the city… We would hold hands, then stop underneath a tree. Grayson would pull me against him, gently squeezing my ass, and rocking his hips into mine. Our lips would meet. Not caring who could see, I would run my hands up his shirt, touching, squeezing, teasing.

A car honked its horn at a distant traffic light, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I can’t believe I had lost myself in my fantasies like that. My dick pressed uncomfortably against my pants, and I tried to adjust myself as inconspicuously as possible. Checking my phone, I saw Mom had texted me. She said she and Dad had left a silent Brayden with his mother and were going to drive back home but wanted to check if I needed a ride first. I saw the message was sent almost half an hour ago and was surprised at how much time had passed. Even though she and Dad had probably left, I texted her anyway to assure her I’d find a ride.

No calls or messages from Brayden. I couldn’t imagine what turmoil he was currently experiencing. Guilt pressed at me. Shouldn’t I have gone with Brayden to check on him? I mean, Brayden was my friend. Though, I’m sure he and his mom had  _ lots _ to talk about…

I was several steps ahead before I noticed Grayson had stopped walking. Turning around, I simply watched him. The angle of the streetlight caused half of his face to be cast in shadow. His jaw was tense, and his hands were clenched at his sides. Lost in thought, he seemed to burn with an anger that was almost frightening. When he spoke, his voice was cold, detached. Whether he spoke directly to me or to himself, I couldn’t say. “I stayed with that woman for sixteen years for the sake of our son—a decision I had to make at fifteen years of age, a decision I was not ready to make. When I finally worked up the courage to ask for a divorce, 40% of my pay went to her. And she  _ knew _ \--she  _ knew _ \--I wasn’t the father. I would have gladly taken Brayden and raised him as my own, on my own, without her, but she wouldn’t hear of it. How different my life would have been if…”

He lapsed back into silence but stood rooted in place. Checking the time, I noticed it was getting fairly late. I motioned towards the direction we had come from. “Let’s start walking back.”

Like a stone shattering a window, my voice crumbled his visage. The look he turned on me was one of a heartbroken, embittered man. I longed to take him in my arms at that moment, to kiss the top of his head and comfort him.

“My son.” His voice was a harsh whisper. “My son… Even knowing he’s not mine, I love him no less.”

I started walking back, and Grayson followed. We had wandered quite far from the restaurant, and it took over half an hour to get back. When we arrived, the parking lot was nearly empty. I hesitated near Grayson’s truck, still needing a ride to get back to my dorm. He had remained silent and pensive during our walk back, and I wasn’t sure how to approach the subject. He was halfway into his truck, and I was running out of seconds to ask.

“Grayson, I—”

The look he shot me was venomous. In that moment, I realized all those times I had called him “Grayson” in my head, ever since that first time at the tennis courts when I whispered the name to myself over and over again, I had still called him “Mr. Hartman” aloud. “What now?” he hissed. Never before had someone ever turned that kind of anger in my direction, and I didn’t know how to handle myself.

Usually one to fight fire with fire, I gazed down at my shoes. Shoulders hunched, his words feeling as a blow to the stomach, I mumbled, “I really need a ride home. My parents left hours ago.”

Coming back to himself, Grayson suddenly realized where he was. Blinking steadily, I watched the anger fade back into his placid mask—and it  _ was _ a mask, I realized. How badly had he been hurt to be so trained to keep that mask so well in place? He slid back out of the truck and clapped his hand to my shoulder. “Alex, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get mad at you. You were very kind to stay with me while”—he shook his head, clearing it some more, and now his mask was fully back in place—“while I sorted through my thoughts. When I snapped just now, I was remembering a different situation, with a very different person. Of course I’ll drive you home.”

Part of me wanted to ask if he needed more company tonight, that I’d gladly stay with him, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to form the words. Though I  _ was  _ concerned. No one with that level of buried anger should be left alone to make decisions.

I actually didn’t know how to get back to campus from this part of town, so I had to pull up my GPS. We were there much sooner than I wanted, and I steeled myself to part for the evening.

Grayson pulled into a parking spot and turned off his truck. But something was off. I couldn’t leave. Something in his eyes caused alarms to sound through my brain. My hands wouldn’t move to unbuckle the seatbelt. I sat, rigid, staring straight ahead. My mouth went dry, but I knew I had to say something.

“I can’t…” My voice caught in my throat, and I took a deep breath to steady myself. If I looked over at Grayson, my heart would come tumbling out of my mouth instead, and I couldn’t bear that. “I don’t feel right leaving you like this. Do you have someone…to stay with?”

A short, curt laugh. “I appreciate you, but, no. I was planning on driving to the nearest bar and getting unbelievably wasted.” But he didn’t insist I get out of his truck, so I continued to sit rooted to my seat.

Finally mustering up my courage, I turned to face him. His gaze was leveled on my face, his expression unreadable. I don’t know what he saw in my eyes at that moment, but he looked away when he saw them.

“Alex, what do you want from me?” His tone was neutral, so I chose to interpret his words in my own way.

“Nothing,” I lied. “I’m just worried. I’m sure your head isn’t in a pleasant spot right now. Then you say you’re going to drive out to a bar? Who’s going to drive you home?”

“Anyone, really,” he growled. “I don’t care who, so long as they take my mind off this pile of shit for a couple of hours.”

I flushed, really not having expected that answer. But I still didn’t budge.

“So, what, you’re going to sit there forever?” he snarled.

He had never directed such a tone at me before, and it made my skin crawl. “Why are you being mean to me? I’m just trying to help.”

“Why do you care?” He was shouting, and I found myself shrinking away from him. “Why do you care about what I’m thinking or doing? You’re just some kid!”

Anger seared through me, and I turned that anger on him. “I told you not to call me a kid!”

“You  _ are _ a kid!” He slammed his hands against the steering wheel and shook it. Surprised, I flinched away from him. “You’ll never understand what I’m going through right now. You say you want to help? I was fifteen years old when I met Monica. I thought I was gay, and she agreed to sleep with me so I could see what I felt. It was supposed to be  _ one night _ ! That one mistake followed me for the rest of my  _ life _ . I was tethered to a woman who I felt  _ nothing for _ , and then what? She fucked the foreign exchange student from Guatemala but needed a baby daddy to take care of her, so she  _ used  _ me. Was she ever going to tell me? I mean, she basically  _ stole  _ from me, taking alimony and child support for years.”

There was a rap on my window. Two guys were looking into the car, very concerned. Grayson rolled the window down a tad, and the strangers asked, “Is everything okay here?”

“It’s fine,” Grayson answered.

The taller one snapped, “We weren’t asking you.”

I realized what the scene must have looked like to these outsiders. I was pressed against the car door, shrinking before an enraged Grayson, who was still gripping the steering wheel as if he were choking the life out of it. They probably thought Grayson would hurt me. Turning to the two, I willed my face to relax and said, “I’m fine. Thank you for stopping and checking.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “We’ll stay with you if you’re in danger.”

Shaking my head quickly, I tried to convince them, “No, no, it’s nothing like that! Really, we’re fine…”

Begrudgingly, they walked away, still not sure if I was telling the truth. After they left, Grayson rolled the window back up. “Fucking embarrassing,” he muttered. He rested his arms across the top of the steering wheel and laid his head atop them. Letting out some of his anger seemed to have caused him to deflate. “I can’t believe I shouted like that. It’s just…too much to process right now. I don’t know why you’re still here. All I’ve done is deflect my feelings onto you.”

“I told you. You’re not in a good place right now, and I’m worried about you.”

A sob ripped through him. He must have been holding it back all evening. Carefully, worried I might set him off again, I rested my hand on his back and rubbed gentle circles as he cried. I didn’t bother offering any words; nothing I had to say would have helped.

After the tears dried up, I could tell the anger had washed out with them. Shame shone on his face as he wiped his reddened eyes. “What must you think of me? I don’t think I’ve ever cried in front of anyone before.”

“I think you’ve been through an entirely too stressful situation, and it’s not healthy to process that alone.” I thought back to when I had been at his house, and he had left to “process” the situation for hours, choosing to be alone to sort through his feelings instead of talking them out. Was that something he always did? Bottle things up, then hide behind that mask of his?

“Well…thank you.” He rested his hand on my thigh, and lightning surged through me. It took everything within me not to arch into that touch.

“Why don’t we go for another walk?” I suggested. “If you’re hungry, there’s a McDonald’s open 24/7.”

He shook his head. “A walk sounds good, but let’s skip the McDonald’s for now. I think if I tried to eat something, I’d throw it up.”

I led him around campus, pointing out landmarks and the buildings where I had classes. The longer we walked, the more calm and collected Grayson became. He let me do most of the talking, so I filled that role as best I could. Wake Forests’ campus was quite stunning, now that I thought about it, and I took it in in a new light. My hand once more itched to slip into Grayson’s, to hold him, to kiss him.

We reached a wide, grassy space with oak trees lining the edges, moonlight shining on the grass. It was a very romantic spot on campus, something I hadn’t noticed until that moment. Laying down in the grass, I rested my hands behind my head and stared up at the stars. Hesitating, Grayson hovered beside me, staring at me like I was crazy, which I suppose I might be. The stars shone behind his head and I gazed up, soaking in this memory and wanting to preserve it forever.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and took a picture. Ah, welcome back impulsive, misguided Alex. How I’ve missed you this evening. While you were out, the rest of the gang and I made responsible choices that wouldn’t ruin the rest of my life. But now that you’re here, how about we start back up that reckless behavior?

I looked at the picture while the real thing sat down beside me. Propping myself up on my elbows, I showed the picture to Grayson. Because of the angle and the lighting, he was a dark figure silhouetted against the starry sky, oak leaves framing the sides. “It’s a really nice picture. Do you mind if I upload it to Instagram?”

“What’s an Instagram?”

Shocked, I stared. “You’re really not that old. There’s no way you don’t know what Instagram is.”

He shrugged. “Is it an app? I don’t have any apps on my phone. I even deleted Facebook.”

Shaking my head in disbelief, I opened it up on my phone. Most of the people I followed were friends from school, but there were also several accounts I followed simply to…look at. As I scrolled through my feed, I hoped that nothing too embarrassing would show up.

Grayson watched for a minute. “So it’s just a photo album? I guess I can tell why people like that. And you have pictures, too?”

Oh, it was good to be back on dangerous ground. These were situations that I absolutely knew how to deal with, where one choice would most definitely lead me into deep shit where another choice was the calm, rational thing to do.

I pressed the button that brought up the pictures I had posted. And there they were. Many were tame, sure, pictures of me hanging with friends, but there were definitely those pictures that left very little to the imagination, very technically staying within Instagram’s nudity policy guidelines. Boldness wanted me to show these pictures to Grayson, for him to think about me with my clothes coming off and what I looked like underneath them. My body began to heat up, and I regretted this decision wholeheartedly.

“What are the hearts for?”

I tapped on a tame picture of some friends and I at the movies to show the icon a little clearer. “The heart means someone liked the picture. If you see a picture that you like, you click the heart.”

“So over 400 people saw this picture and liked it? Is that what young people do these days? Stare at pictures on their phones?”

Actually, that was fairly accurate. “Pretty much, yeah. Though sometimes we watch videos.” I pocketed my phone and changed the subject. “So you really don’t have any apps on your phone? You don’t play games?”

Grayson was sitting cross-legged on the grass. He shifted to pull out his own phone. He showed me the home screen. His background picture was the default one that came with the phone. “I have CNN for news, and I have an app for the weather. Oh, and I have an app that tracks how far I run. It keeps asking if I want to ‘share,’ but I don’t know what that means.”

I was incredulous. He was seriously this technologically challenged? “I thought you were an engineer. Are you supposed to be tech savvy?”

“Well, yeah, I can use the software at my job, but that doesn’t mean I’m ‘liking’ or ‘posting’ or whatever a Tweet is. Do you Tweet an Instagram?”

I laughed. “No, and that sentence doesn’t make any sense at all.” I thought for a moment, remembering a previous conversation. “Wait, you don’t have a dating app? How do you meet people?”

Grayson grimaced. “There are apps for dating? What do you mean, ‘how do you meet people?’ I go to a bar or a club, and there are people there. I talk to those people, and if I like them, I date them. If I don’t like them, I move on. How could you do that on a phone?”

“There’s no way you’re being serious right now. Dating websites have been around for  _ decades.  _ There are commercials for them on TV! You don’t live in a cave.”

A shrug of his shoulders. “I’m fine with not being up-to-date with that kind of stuff. But I did like that picture thingy. You can look at pictures from all over the world?”

It was like I was watching the scene as an out of body experience, like a camera hovered above us, and I looked on from a separate location, behind a screen somewhere. I showed him how to install the app and helped him make an account. I texted him the picture I had just taken of him. After saving it to his phone, we used that as his profile picture. It really was a neat picture. I showed him how to follow me, and I followed him in return and liked his picture. He smiled when his phone sent through the notification, and he showed me the screen. “Look! Someone liked my picture!”

“That was me.”

I showed him Brayden’s account and watched an even bigger smile light up his face. Scrolling through the pictures, he was surprised to find out he was in a few of them. “Look! This is when we went fishing! He must have been thirteen or fourteen… I can’t believe he still has that picture. Oh! Here we are with his grandparents for Thanksgiving last year.” For the first time all evening, I think I had finally successfully distracted him from the earlier drama.

Grayson’s mind must have been on a similar wavelength because he turned to me and said, “Thank you. You’re…something else, you know? Now, let’s head back. It’s already two in the morning. Some of us old people need to get some sleep.”

“Wait.” He had risen to one knee but paused and waited. I swallowed down the words I longed to say and finally settled on, “Just know that if you ever need someone to listen to you…it’s better to talk things out than to keep them bottled up.”

A short nod, and he was back on his feet. He held out his hand to me, and I took it, letting him help me regain my feet. The only thing, I think, that could have absolutely ruined that moment would have been if I leaned in to kiss him.

Strong hands were on my shoulders, gently pushing me backwards. My head was a lot closer to his face than I thought it was, and I realized I had just tried to betray myself. It was obvious that I had tried to kiss him, but I quickly tried to play it off. Yawning, I said, “Sorry, I think I just fell asleep for a second there.”

Grayson took a step back from me and said, “Be careful as we walk back, then. Next time, I might not be able to catch you.”

Mom was right. This stupid crush could only end in my heartbreak. I mean, if there was any chance at all of us being together, that was the moment where he would have let me kiss him. Instead, there was a noticeably larger distance between us as we walked back to my dormitory. At his truck, he waved goodnight and drove off.

Moping back to my room, I sighed as my head hit the pillow. What a fucking idiot I was. And just to show myself that I  _ could  _ get more pathetic, I saved the starry photo I had taken of Grayson as my background photo on my phone.

“Shut up,” I muttered to myself. “I don’t want to hear about how much of a terrible idea this is.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember at the beginning where I said this story was originally intended as a one-shot? And now look how far we’ve come! Over 60,000 words. And there’s still a lot more to go… We’re only about two-thirds of the way through!

My phone’s ringtone woke me up the following morning. Naturally an early riser, I was surprised to see I had slept in until ten. Seeing it was Brayden, I quickly answered my phone, instantly alert. “Brayden. How are you?”

“I think I’ll be okay.” His voice was hoarse, and I could tell he was trying to force himself to sound normal. “Mom and I had a really long talk last night. She told me a lot of things about her and my dad that I hadn’t known about. I mean, I can add and subtract, so I knew they had had me while they were still in high school, but I didn’t realize I was the only reason they got married. I always assumed they, well…loved each other. Guess I was wrong about that.”

After a short pause, he continued, telling me how his mom had met Victor around the same time she was seeing Grayson. I knew there were holes in his story when he said his mom told him that she and Grayson had been dating for several months. I guess it was easier to lie than to tell her own flesh-and-blood that she had only slept with Grayson to test whether or not he was gay.

And suddenly, I felt for Monica. She was sixteen and just discovering herself sexually. I was lucky in that my sexual partners could never get pregnant. Otherwise, I could have found myself in a very similar situation, young, scared, and with an unwanted pregnancy.

Brayden continued to say that Monica knew that Victor could have been the father, but since he was at the school on a temporary visa, she knew she’d never see him again. But there had been Grayson, insisting that he “do right by her.” I could just imagine him going straight to her parents and confessing their coupling, promising that he would take care of her and do the right thing by marrying her.

He’s just that kind of person.

“So after a lot of thought…and after talking to my dad this morning…I came to the realization that it doesn’t matter if he’s not my biological father. In fact, I’ll probably never even meet my biological father. But Dad’s the one who raised me and he’s the one I love, so… That’s that. I think. And of course I’m upset with my mother, but I don’t blame her. There was an equal chance that Dad really was my biological father.”

“I’m glad you’re taking this so well.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll have an absolute meltdown in about four months when this all catches up to me. Melissa’s already suggested I start seeing a counselor at school. They offer free services to all students.”

“That’s great.”

“By the way…did you help my dad make an Instagram account? I woke up this morning to a notification that he was following me. I know he knows absolutely nothing about his phone, and you’re the only other person he’s following…”

“Oh. Yeah, that was me.”

“And you’re the one that took that picture.”

It was not a question, so I didn’t answer.

“Alex, what the fuck is going on between you and my dad?” My stomach dropped. This conversation could go nowhere but downhill. Either I could vehemently deny everything, but Brayden clearly would not believe me, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked the question in the first place, or I could tell him the truth, which is the fastest way to lose a friend. I could hear the sole gear that still worked in this poor excuse of a brain quietly click into place.

I wouldn’t lie, but I wouldn’t tell the whole truth, either.

“He was really upset last night.” So far, so true. “I wanted to watch him until he calmed down. He said something about wanting to go to a bar, and I was worried about drunk driving.” Still true but beginning to miss many key details. “I was trying to distract him, so I showed him Instagram. I don’t know why.”

There.

At least Brayden was on the other side of a phone so that when he saw right through my bullshit, he wouldn’t take a swing at my head.

“You guys just seem pretty chummy lately,” he retorted, “and now this? He’s ‘liked’ several of your pictures. Did you remember to tell him that other people can see what he’s doing?”

Oh, he’s liked some of my pictures, you say? Which ones? Was it the one with my pants around my thighs and my hand in my underwear? Sure, you can’t see my face, and you can only see part of my chest, and the lighting is terrible—

Later. Think about that later.

“We’re ‘chummy’ because we spend so much time running together. You could be ‘chummy’ with us, too, if you want to go with us. That reminds me, there should be a half-marathon coming up—”

“Forget I said anything! You can’t make me run!”

And like that, I had deflected the conversation into new territory.

And the only person I was really lying to was myself. And my friends. And my family.

After I hung up with Brayden, I was so eager to scroll through my Instagram pictures that I accidentally threw my phone across the room. Having somehow slept through my whole conversation, Marcus woke up with a snap. After assuring him that I was just clumsy, he yawned and said he was up anyways. Liar.

Which pictures had he liked? Ah, the soccer ones. That makes sense. Which others? Hmm… One of me and Brayden from high school. Wow, he sure did scroll through a lot of my pictures to get that far…

There. That one.

It was fairly tame, but I knew the context behind the picture, which made it anything but. I had just finished jerking off, which explained the flushed face and messy hair. There was still a dildo in my ass and cum on my lower stomach, but I had pulled my pants and underwear on over the evidence. I left my shirt off, though, and my abs were still tensed post-orgasm. What made the situation even sweeter was recognizing the extreme probability that I had been jerking off thinking of Grayson.

“Marcus, you have thirty seconds to get out of here before I start jerking off. It’s happening whether you’re here or not.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone move so fast before in my life.

I clicked on Grayson’s username, which brought me to his barren profile page. He had added a second picture this morning. I recognized his new living room, and I slipped my hand into my pants as I thought about all the wonderous things that couch had seen. It was a cheesy picture of him giving the camera a thumbs up and a big, goofy smile. The caption was, “Look at me! I’m using the internet!”

All too quickly, I felt myself getting close. There would be no savoring this session. I noticed a new notification, and when I clicked it, I knew Brayden had yet to tell his father that others could see when he was liking posts on your account. The picture Grayson had clicked the “heart” icon on was the least tame picture on my whole account. I explicitly recalled trying to see how far I could push the limits on Instagram’s nudity policy. Exactly this far, I had found out, for the following picture I had posted was reported and taken down.

In the picture, I was wearing sweatpants for the sole purpose of being able to see the exact outline of my dick through them, including all the details along my glans. I was not wearing underwear or a shirt. It was part of a series of several pictures where I pulled my pants lower and lower over my hips, uncovering my cock inch by inch, to see which of the pictures would pass the policy. I still couldn’t believe this picture wasn’t reported and removed.

I had put quite a bit of thought into these pictures and had trimmed all the hair on my body. I didn’t have a lot of hair on my torso, but my pubes grew in thick and scraggly, which is why I usually kept them fairly shorn. There is absolutely nothing worse than a mouthful of pubes when you’re going down on a guy.

Anyway. Things you could see in this picture: the outline of my dick. My pelvis. Pretty much everything below my belly button.

And two inches of uncovered cock.

And that’s the picture Grayson chose to click the “heart” under.

I lost it. Finishing myself off, I cried out as I came, the orgasm ripping through me harder than it had in a long time. It took several minutes before my breathing was back under control.

“Shit.” The semen had flown everywhere, including on my phone and the sheets. Guess that meant it was time for laundry. Using the already soiled sheets, I cleaned off my phone screen. Then I pulled up a text with Grayson. “I don’t think I ever got to say it yesterday, but thanks for coming to my soccer game.”

* * *

Soccer kept me too busy to do much besides study and go to class. As we got further into the season, our team was doing really well, and I was playing in most of the games. Every spare second of my day not devoted to school was spent practicing or training.

My parents got season passes and went to every single home game that season, and even a few of the away games. A few friends from high school continued to show to the games, but most of the people in the stands were friends of mine at Wake Forest. Neither Brayden nor his mother went to another of my games that year. Honestly, who could blame them?

Grayson went to nearly every home game. He said he didn’t mind the drive since he was used to driving out to the park for our 10k training anyway. He also said the ticket prices were incredibly cheap. Soccer tickets were usually around $5 a game whereas our football team could charge upwards of $200 for the best seats and no one batted an eye. That’s the south for you. These people live and breathe football.

My weeks quickly formed into predictable routines, and time flew by. One minute it was our first game in August, and the next minute it was almost time for finals. It was getting harder for me to keep my grades up as classes became more challenging, but I found a study group that worked around sports schedules, and I was able to manage.

When classes started again in January, I found I had the opposite problem: now I had  _ too much  _ time. I kept up with soccer training exercises and still went to the gym fairly frequently, but those hours put in couldn’t hold a candle to the amount of time I put into soccer during the season. I ended up going to more parties than I cared to think about, though I was being more careful about who I was bringing back with me afterwards, rarely bringing anyone back at all. I refused to redownload that dating app, not wanting to explain to my parents that my grades slipped because I was fucking instead of studying.

It was late March before I once more lost my goddamn mind. I think that might be a new record for me. Really, it was only a matter of time.

Marcus and I had been at a party, and for once, he found a girl he wanted to take back to our place. He gave me the signal, and of course I let him go for it. Our agreement was that we would text immediately post coitus (or as soon after as was possible) for the other to come back to the dorm, before falling asleep, lest the other be without a room for the night. That night, either Marcus was going to town on this girl, or he had fallen asleep before getting his phone, but it was nearly three in the morning and I still hadn’t gotten a text. I had been drinking steadily at the party--not too heavily that I was stumbling drunk but still absolutely nowhere near the definition of sober. As the party drew to a close and I still didn’t have a “come home” text, I needed to make plans. Plenty of friends would have let me crash last minute with them, but I was feeling stupid and horny.

There are several places on campus that are fairly secluded this time of night, tucked back away from enough lights that I could have some private time. Normally I didn’t go for public exhibitionism, but again: Drunk. Stupid. Horny.

I found the spot I had been to twice before. It was in the shadow of one of the smaller buildings, with only one yellowed lightbulb in the area. There was a single bench surrounded by bushes. Sitting on the bench, the bushes grew up past my head, making me effectively invisible to any passerby. 

“Time to get stupider,” said my brain, and my dick agreed.

“Bored,” I texted Grayson.

Again. Drunk. Stupid. Horny. I cannot stress this enough.

“Drunk,” I added and sent.

Several minutes passed by, and I was beginning to think he wasn’t up, which was probably for the best. If I had been anywhere near my right mind, I would have taken this for a sign, thanked God and every one of his angels, packed my dumbass self up, and passed the rest of the night in the common room of the dorm. Actually, if I had been anywhere near my right mind,  _ I wouldn’t have sent those texts to begin with. _

But then a text came through, and I knew it was too late. There was no way I was backing out of this. Besides, in the morning, all I had to do was plead drunk, stupid, horny. My plan was fool-proof!

“Texting at 3am when you’re drunk and bored is never a good idea.”

Then another text from Grayson followed: “Drunk, too.”

Oh, God. Tell me this wasn’t happening. Was it happening?  _ Shit _ .

I surfed through my Instagram pictures and found the one that had two inches of cock showing. I sent it to him and typed, “I saw you liked this one.” In fact, his name still showed up first on the list of likes.

“Didn’t know you could see that.”

The stars must have aligned for me and me alone because he then texted, “I did like it. I do like it.”

“Want to see more?”

My pants were already opened, and I balanced my length on my hand, loving the feel of how heavy it was. I snapped a picture, but it was hard to see in the dark. I was adjusting the brightness when I got the next text.

“Go to bed.”

“You didn’t say no. If you don’t say no, I’m sending you more.”

I waited five whole minutes, watching the clock on my phone very carefully. Then I sent the picture I had just taken.

“Are you outside?”

“Are you hard?” I responded. Then I texted, “I have better pictures I can show you, but I wanted you to see how I was right now.”

“Go to bed.”

“Again, that’s not a no.”

I spent time searching through the pictures on my phone, giving him plenty of time to call the whole thing off. While he wasn’t exactly encouraging my behavior, he wasn’t freaking out and telling me to stop, either. Throwing sense even further out the window, I found a personal favorite—who am I kidding? They’re all favorites—and sent it.

In reply, he sent me one of my Instagram pictures. It was a shot taken straight down my bare chest. I was wearing sweatpants, but you could tell I had a bulge. “I liked this one, too,” he sent.

_ Fuck.  _ This couldn’t really be happening. Waves of ecstasy crashed over me, and I nearly finished myself off right then and there, but I wanted to see how far I could push this.

“You like to top?” I texted.

“I’m not going to answer that. It’s one thing to send dick pics when you’re drunk. It’s quite another to ask that question.”

Well, I found the line. It was a lot closer than I wanted it to be, but I knew better than to cross it again and shut down our entire conversation.

“Then I’ll just keep sending dick pics.” I sent him five more in rapid succession, each from a different angle. “If you could only ‘like’ one of these, which would it be?”

“The third one.”

That third picture had been taken by a second party. In it, I was on all fours, gravity pulling my cock between my legs. The picture was taken from behind, fairly close up, showing a nice view of my asshole and balls.

And that was it. Imagining Grayson admiring that view had me coming in just a few short seconds. I took a picture of the aftermath, once more adjusting the lighting. I hadn’t wanted to turn on the flash, just in case someone saw it and came over to investigate, but I feel I did a fair enough job at my sloppy editing to get the point across.

Clean up was a little challenging, but I managed as best I could. Halfway back to my dorm, my phone vibrated and jingled, signaling that I had a message. When I saw what it was, I nearly dropped my phone. Sure that I was dreaming, or at the very least still very, very drunk, I put my phone back in my pocket, rubbed my eyes, then tried again.

No, it was real. While it wasn’t a dick pic, it  _ was _ a picture of a hand coated in semen.

“Fuck,” I groaned. My body responded and made its best effort to rise once more to the occasion. I still hadn’t heard from Marcus, however, and I really needed to get to sleep. “Sorry, little buddy, but you’ll have to wait until morning to see this picture again.”

I washed up in the communal bathroom, and, still not having heard from Marcus, I slept on the couch in the common room. Not an uncommon sight in the slightest, my fellow student body let me sleep. Luckily, I’m a morning person, and I was awake and heading back to my room before most of the populace was moving about.

Still no text from Marcus, but that immediately drew my brain back to remembering my series of incredibly bad decisions from the night before. Had I really done that? What was wrong with me? In the harsh light of morning, I couldn’t believe I had risked a three-and-a-half year relationship to show off my dick.

Who was I kidding? I could absolutely believe it.

But the  _ results _ …

I locked myself in a bathroom stall and scrolled back through the texts, reliving every second of the previous evening.  _ How could I have been so fucking stupid sending him all of those pictures? _

Halfway through typing, “Sorry about last night,” I erased it. I wasn’t sorry, and I wouldn’t apologize. If he wasn’t complicit, he could have stopped it at any time. I saved that last picture he had sent me, of his release, and made a mental note to save it to my computer, too. This picture alone could be enough masturbation fodder to last me the rest of my life.

But I felt like I had to say  _ something _ , to acknowledge what we had done and that I refused to pretend it didn’t happen. Finally, I decided on, “Not drunk anymore. Now hungover.”

Alright, Marcus, it’s about damn time for your alarm clock to go off.

Being Marcus’s alarm clock, meaning I threw open our door and started shrieking, imitating the sound of an alarm clock beeping, was probably not the best idea I had had in the last 24 hours, and that included sending sloppy dick pics to my friend’s dad. Half the hall was awakened by my piercing screams and were out for my blood, promising revenge of the darkest kind. Marcus’s date jumped so hard in surprise that she hit her head against his chin, and left a long bruise on his shin, both facts I wouldn’t find out until later.

“Good morning, my beautiful Marcus,” I serenaded, literally singing the words. “Did someone forget to text someone else last night and let him know he could come home? I slept on the couch for you, but fear not sweet Marc-othy, my tired self has come home at long last.”

Something wet slapped me along the side of the face, and I stared in shock that he had dared throw his used condom at me. “Fuck off, Alex,” he hissed. Then he rolled over and fell back to sleep.

“I’m leaving this for you to pick up,” I informed him. I grabbed my things so I could change, shower, and brush my teeth. After washing up, I headed to breakfast, not lying about the hangover.

At breakfast, I received a text from Grayson. “If soccer doesn’t pan out, you could always become a professional photographer.”

Oh? Could I now?

“I’ll make sure to include a few of those pictures on my resume.”

“You would either get hired on the spot, or get instantly charged with harassment.”

So far, Grayson hadn’t attempted an apology, either, and I took that as a  _ really _ good sign.

* * *

Every evening after, I tried to bring myself to sext Grayson again, but something held me back. He never again mentioned the pictures, and I didn’t get any more likes from him on my Instagram pictures. Too many things had to come into perfect alignment, I thought, for Grayson to be amenable to that situation. Normally, he would have put a stop to it before I even began. There must have been just the right levels of drunkenness and horniness for it to have worked, and I didn’t want to push my luck. Instead, I continued to content myself innumerable times to that one picture he had sent me.

That April, my birthday landed at the tail end of Spring Break. My friends organized an enormous party for me, throwing it technically the night before in order to “start my birthday with a bang.” Knowing I’d regret it if I didn’t, I purposely left my phone in my dorm. That evening, I really let myself go, drinking more than I ever had before. Through the last half of the evening, I ended up doing more vomiting than partying, and I actually fell asleep in the bathtub.

When I woke up the next morning, I had a splitting headache and could barely move. I ran the bathtub faucet over my face, hoping the water would help wake me up. Taking small sips from the running water, I eventually felt okay enough to try to stand. Turning on the faucet, however, had made the bottom of the tub slippery and had soaked my shirt. I had to literally crawl out of the tub. Knowing I was prone to making promises I couldn’t keep, I vowed to never party again.

I made it out of the bathroom only to take a short nap in the hallway. I was awoken when some other partygoer tripped over my prone body. Together, we helped each other stand and make our way to the kitchen to find some Advil and water.

By the time I made it back to my dorm and my phone, it was past three o’clock. When I checked my notifications, I had dozens of missed calls and texts from people wishing me a happy birthday. I called my parents back first, to thank them, before slowly making my way down the list.

When I got to Grayson’s texts, I froze. All he had sent was a simple “happy birthday,” but the timestamp is what gave me pause. It had been sent at two o’clock that morning. Cursing myself, I wondered what kind of present he would have given me if I had responded at the right time.

“Just got your text,” I sent. “Thank you!”

Almost immediately, he replied, “Want to go for a birthday run?”

I groaned.  _ Yes, I want to go. _ But my pounding headache insisted otherwise. “Like an idiot, I partied all night. I’m still hungover. Birthday stroll instead?”

“How about birthday dinner?”

My heart soared, and I had to check my pulse to see if I had died and this was the afterlife. But, no, this was real. This was  _ really happening _ .

“Yes,” I responded. “Pick me up?”

There were a few friends whom I had made tentative plans with for the evening, and only feeling a little guilty, I texted them back to push our plans into the next few days. The rest of the time before Grayson was to pick me up I spent carefully choosing an outfit, styling my hair, and trimming down my body hair. Even with all the care I put into these preparations, I still had plenty of time left over, and I paced the dormitory hallways full of nervous energy.

“Here.”

I practically ran out the doors the second I saw that text, forcing myself to slow down as I approached the truck. Couldn’t seem too desperate and eager, now, could I? 

“Happy birthday,” Grayson greeted. “How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“So not twenty-one yet?”

“Not until next year.”

He was smiling, which caused me to smile in return. My heart soared through the air, and I took the time to simply  _ enjoy _ this moment. 

The restaurant was a small Irish pub closer to Grayson’s house. “I keep forgetting that Brayden is older than you,” he said as we were seated at a table. “I keep switching your birthdays and thinking you were a grade ahead of him. I thought you were turning twenty-one. I was going to buy you a beer.”

The food was delicious, and Grayson and I lapsed into conversation with ease. We kept to safe topics, him asking about soccer and classes and me asking about his work. For a moment, it felt like we had crossed that border from friends into a date, but just as suddenly as that thought floated through my brain, the check arrived, interrupting the momentum, and the spell was broken.

On the way back to his truck, I thought frantically of an excuse to spend more time with him. Coming up empty handed, I tried for a terrible joke. As we buckled in and Grayson started the engine, I said, “So your place or mine?”

Grayson froze, and for a few seconds, I wondered if I had just been granted time control powers, accidentally freezing the world. Finally, slowly, he turned to face me. “I told you before,” he scolded, “that there’s a line and not to cross it. That was the line.”

Cowed at first, I was suddenly touched by anger. Three-and-a-half years of pent-up frustration bubbled to the surface. Why was he in charge of where the line was? And once again my mouth was flying away from me without getting permission from my brain. Accusingly, I demanded, “So you’ll let me send you pictures, but what? That’s it? Don’t you want— _ more _ ? I saw what time you texted me this morning. What was that about?”

Grayson’s face reddened, but I couldn’t tell what emotions he was feeling. He tried to keep his words back, but something I must have said stung, for he exclaimed, “Fine! You want to hear the truth? Yes, I think you’re very attractive. You have a fantastic body. And what am I supposed to do when you start sending me pictures of your dick? Pretend I don’t see them?  _ What the fuck, Alex? _ But, no, that’s as far as this goes, and that’s  _ it.” _

For the first time in my life, I was too angry to speak. My mouth kept working to form words, but they kept catching in my throat. Grayson threw the car into reverse and backed out of the parking lot faster than he meant to, nearly colliding with a car in another space. “ _ Fuck! _ ” he shouted, trying to control himself before he caused an accident.

We rode in silence the entire way back. I had noticed that Grayson tended to keep his anger and stress in his jaws, and indeed, his mouth was clenched shut, the muscles on the sides of his face twitching.

I wanted to stay angry, both at Grayson and myself, but my brain had latched onto those words he told me and replayed them over and over: “Yes, I think you’re very attractive. You have a fantastic body.”

Oh, boy.

Mom was absolutely right. The only one who would get hurt here would be me.

Neither of us had spoken even as he was pulling his truck into a parking space by the dorm. I realized I couldn’t leave things like this, no matter what.

But what to say?

The truth? That I had been in love with him for over three years? And that being around him was enough to put my head in an absolute whirl, barely able to breathe, thinking of nothing else but him? That I longed for more than just physical contact but to  _ be  _ with him, to welcome him home from work, to listen to his stories, to share his life with him?

Or lie? Say the whole thing was a joke and I was sorry he had taken it any other way. That I didn’t want anything from us but a friendship, and that I wouldn’t send another racy text his way again. He might believe it. I had a tendency to say outrageous things at inappropriate times. But too much time had passed for me to try to pass it off as a joke, and we had both gotten too worked up over my comment to pretend otherwise.

I guess there was only one thing  _ to _ say.

“Grayson, I’m really sorry.”

Thankfully, his anger seemed to dissipate. However, he still wouldn’t speak and waited for me to continue with my apology.

“I’m sorry I crossed the line. I really respect our friendship, and I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize what we have.”

Well, what do you know? I told the truth. Of course, not the entire truth, but one step at a time.

It was enough, for now. This time, at least. “And I shouldn’t have gotten so angry at you. Especially not on your birthday.”

“Yeah, you could have at least waited until tomorrow to get angry at me.”

A forced laugh, but it was enough. For the time being, we had patched things up between us. But once again, I had brought that tenuous string holding us together too close to the flame, threatening to destroy everything in one fell swoop.

And though I was still elated that he had complimented my body, he had been adamant on the issue of pursuing anything else, including a physical relationship. Unless I wanted to destroy everything we had built together, I’d be much better off never mentioning it again.

It was only nine o’clock when I left Grayson. My phone had numerous messages inviting me to birthday parties and gatherings, but I ignored them all. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was sleep. After getting ready for bed, I was out almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.

At first I couldn’t place what sound had awoken me. It was still dark in my room, and glancing to the other bed, I was surprised to see Marcus was not in it. When I checked my phone for the time, I saw the text message notification and placed the sound. It was two thirty in the morning, and my phone began to chime again, signaling a series of texts all in a row.

They were from Grayson.

I scrolled up to the top and read through them all.

“Alex, I still don’t feel right about how our conversation earlier played out. Once again, I’m sorry for getting so upset on your birthday. I’ve come to grow fond of our friendship and the time we spend together, and I don’t want anything to jeopardize that bond that we’ve built.

“I told you it takes me awhile to process things, so I’ve spent the past few hours composing these texts, and I hope they convey what I intend them to.

“There are a few things I’ve been struggling with, and the biggest one is looking at those pictures of you. I meant it when I said I’m physically attracted to you, and I’m worried that will come to slowly destroy our friendship. I’ve fooled around with friends before, and it never ends well. One or both of us ends up getting hurt. You’re young, so I’m sure you’ve thought ‘what would just once hurt,’ but those are the kinds of thoughts that lead down a dark path. Again, I’ve been there.

“Just know that I want to put our friendship absolutely first. To do that, I need to come clean. If you continue to send me pictures, I will continue to look at them and get off on them, but I refuse for it to go farther than that. And if you’re not okay with how I look at those pictures, I will wipe everything from my phone and delete my Instagram.”

_ Oh, my God. _

I didn’t even know where to begin on my response.

The terrible part of me grabbed onto the thought of him looking at the pictures I sent and touching himself to them and wouldn’t think of anything else.

“My Instagram is public,” I texted. “No need to delete it. And if I didn’t want you to have those pictures, I wouldn’t have sent them.”

So much time had passed that I had almost fallen asleep again before Grayson texted back. “I need your word that you understand that pictures are as far as it goes.”

“Of course,” I lied.

The picture was taken with the camera held up by Grayson’s face and looking down his body. He was in his bed, and nearly his entire body was in the picture, from his chest to his toes. His clothes were completely off, which meant I got to see…everything. My breath caught in my throat and a hot shiver raced through my body as I admired every detail in the picture.

Grayson had spent more time on his muscles than I had. Where I was toned and focused more on keeping myself in shape for soccer, he was buff. The outline of his musculature was tantalizing, and my hands itched to run along his body. Unlike me, he had chest and stomach hair, but he kept it trimmed.

But while his body was absolutely mind-blowing, that’s not what drew my eyes. His cock was resting against his leg, only partially erect, yet still reaching midway down his thigh. His balls were two heavy globes resting directly below, and I ached to take them in my mouth and suck them. Three-and-a-half years of vivid imaginings had barely done it justice.

Last time we did this, I finished in no time. This time around, I wanted to take things nice and slow.

Grateful for Marcus not being in the room, I slid my pants off, my mast already standing at full sail. I turned on the light beside my bed and took myself in hand. Lining my phone up, I took a picture and sent it. My fist slowly worked its way up and down, pre-cum already weeping from the tip. If I was going to make this last, I would have to make sure I didn’t lose myself too soon, but I didn’t know how much self-control Grayson would leave me.

Shivering with anticipation, I anxiously awaited the next message, but as the minutes continued to tick by and my phone remained silent, I began to grow impatient. It was all well and good to imagine Grayson touching himself while looking at my picture, but I wanted to  _ see _ more. Three-and-a-half years of waiting had me yearning to see so much more of the real thing.

“What are you doing right now?” I texted, then, “Show me.”

This picture was a close-up of the tip, light reflecting off the translucent pearls gathered there. Moaning, I realized my hand wasn’t enough. Taking a toy from my collection, I slathered it with lube and began to insert it. This particular toy was intended to both look and feel realistic, but it paled greatly in comparison to what I wished was penetrating my insides.

I pulled the dildo in and out of myself until I had relaxed into the feeling and adjusted to its shape. Taking the picture with one hand while holding the toy in place with the other was tricky, but I managed. After sending it, I pulled up the picture previously sent and moved my hips against the toy, imagining it was Grayson thrusting in and out of me.

The next text did not include a picture, much to my chagrin, but the words sent made my entire body ache with wanton lust. “Can you send me a picture of you using your fingers instead?”

Glad to accommodate the request, I slid the dildo out and set it to the side to clean later. Lubing my fingers, I inserted first one, then two. After shifting around to several different angles, I found it next to impossible to both hold the phone and pose. I’d have to get creative.

Setting up my phone on the windowsill, I set it to record, then headed back to the bed. I propped myself on my knees and elbows with my ass facing the camera lens. Working the two fingers in and out of myself, I gripped my cock with the other hand. Imagining Grayson watching this video had me moaning into the bedsheets, pressing myself backward into my fingers.

I had to keep the video short or else the file would be too large to send. Bemoaning the loss of contact, I retrieved my phone. Using an app, I trimmed the ends of the video, of me placing and picking up my phone, then sent it to Grayson.

His response had me smiling. “I thought I said pictures only.”

“What is a video except a series of pictures?” I responded.

He responded with a picture of himself in mid-stroke along his fully erect shaft, his hand blurred with the motion. My jaw dropped at the size of him. I could easily fit both my hands onto him with room to spare. Part of me had worried that a man as perfect as him in every other way couldn’t possibly be blessed below the belt as well, but how I loved to be proven wrong.

“I don’t know how to send a video,” he texted back.

My pace was increasing, and I tried once more to hold myself back. “Call me?” I begged. “I want to hear you.”

“Pictures only,” was his response.

“What’s a phone call but a picture you can’t see but can hear?”

Testing my luck, too horny to think clearly, I called him. I didn’t expect him to pick up but was still disappointed when the call went to voicemail. I thought about pushing myself to orgasm in a voicemail but decided against it at the last minute. I’d rather continue getting these wonderful texts, please and thank you.

A new text came through. “Here are my terms: Call back, but I’m not saying a word, and you won’t, either. You say anything, and I’m hanging up.”

Without wasting any time, I called back. True to his word, he answered, but didn’t say anything. I resisted the habit of saying “hello” into my end. I knew he was there when I heard one quiet, short gasp.

I put my phone on speaker phone and placed it on my stomach. All of the lube I had used earlier had my hand sliding up and down my cock with an erotic squelching sound. I heard his breath catch in his throat and knew he could hear the sound of it as well.

Never one for being quiet, I let the moans escape my lips. For once I didn’t need to imagine myself in any kind of situation; it was more than enough knowing nothing separated the object of my desires and myself other than a phone. I began thrusting my hips into my hand, knowing it wouldn’t be much longer. Turning the phone off speaker phone, I held it against my ear in order to more readily hear those quick pants on the other end.

Knowing what he had said earlier, I couldn’t help it when the moment began to arrive. “I’m going to come.” In my mind’s eye, Grayson had his lips wrapped around my length, and I felt the need to warn him of the upcoming finish. Too late I remembered his warning of “say anything and I’m hanging up” and worried deeply that he would cut the line.

A harsh groan and a raspy, “Come for me.”

Moans tore through my body as I jerked myself to completion, hot semen splashing across my stomach. Shallow gasps left little to the imagination, and I let out sounds of my own as I listened to him finish.

Grayson’s voice was scratchy, and I almost missed the whispered words and their underlying meaning. “Remember when I said there’d come a moment when I wouldn’t view you as a kid anymore? I think this was that moment.”

The call ended. I stared at the rectangular object in my hand, wondering if I had finally gone crazy and imagined that whole thing. But, no, there were the pictures still in my inbox, and there was evidence of the call. I took a picture of the spent mess across my lower abdomen, texted it, then rolled over and fell asleep.

* * *

Immediately after Spring Break, I began studying for finals. With little time for much else, by the time I worked through classes and kept up with soccer training, homework, and studying, I was ready to fall asleep. With such a fast-paced routine, the semester was over before I knew it, and then I was thrown back full time into soccer practice. The coaches were able to get me into a special training session with a few dozen other college players throughout the country, and before I could process how much of an incredible opportunity this was for me, my parents were driving me to the airport so I could fly to New York City for the camp.

Never before had I worked harder than I had that summer at camp. It was a highly competitive program, and the other players were at a level I could barely imagine. For the first time in my life, I was struggling to keep up instead of easily keeping pace with the top players. I had always known that the odds of turning pro were exceedingly low, but this was the first time I had ever doubted myself and my abilities of achieving that dream.

And so I worked even harder. Soccer had become much more than a hobby or a pastime. I genuinely enjoyed what I did, and I was willing to work as hard as necessary to be the best. During those three weeks, I learned more about myself and soccer than I had in all of my previous experiences combined. When I returned to Wake Forest, I was surprised with how much ease I could apply those new skills with my teammates.

After that spectacular birthday and up through the end of soccer season, I wasn’t able to recreate that incredible experience with Grayson. My entire being was dedicated to my sport, and for the first time ever, I went long stretches of time—sometimes weeks would go by without me even realizing it—without being able to pleasure myself. And when I was able to catch a few minutes before falling fast asleep, usually it had been so long since the last time that I was finished before I knew it. I still sent the occasional picture to Grayson, especially from the stash of pictures I had saved from previous sessions, but I had to make do with the four total pictures I had of him as he never sent me another one.

Texts to friends and family grew fewer and farther between, and I greatly lamented the deficit of contact between Grayson and me. I grieved for the time we had spent at the gym—at least three times a week every week throughout my junior and senior years at high school. Had it really been four years since I had first laid eyes on Grayson?

How things had deliciously changed between us.

It wasn’t until soccer season was completely over before things settled down for me. Our school had played very well and had made it fairly far in the College Cup. I was becoming quite a hot topic on the team, and my name even appeared on ESPN a couple times during the season. Fame suited me, I found, and I reveled in every second. But once soccer season was over, I was absolutely spent. I chose to go home for winter break, looking forward to a much-needed break from campus for a while.

Those first two days back at my parents’, I did little else other than sleep. My grades came out, and I was genuinely surprised that I had managed to keep them up during such an exhausting semester. I planned on taking two extra classes in the spring in hopes to lighten my coarse load for my senior soccer season semester and still graduate on time. Butterflies roared in my stomach as I thought about the scouts that had already started discussing my future with professional teams, but I was determined to finish out my economics degree, just in case. You never knew if a shattered leg would put you out of the soccer game for life.

And once more, I felt that sudden swing from barely having enough time to catch a quick lunch to having entirely too much time on my hands. And a bored Alex was prone to do stupid, terrible things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all the comments I'm getting! Please let me know what you're thinking. Love it, hate it, only here for the sex scenes...I love hearing it all! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been reading! I hit 1,000 views, 25 comments, 10 bookmarks, and 100 kudos (okay, technically 99) after uploading chapter 7. You guys are wonderful! :D

I thought I had an idea, but I was sorely mistaken. I tried to approach Dad in the best way possible. Waking up early, I brewed a pot of coffee and prepared his usual cereal and banana. When he saw breakfast waiting for him at the kitchen table, he eyed me suspiciously.

“What did you do?” he accused.

Knowing he was on to me, I pulled on the biggest smile I could and said charmingly, “Can’t an appreciative son do something nice for his father?”

Mom had followed Dad into the kitchen, and she actually laughed at me. “Who’s an appreciative son? If you found him here, he’s probably lost. Be a dear and help him find his way back to his family.”

I scowled, and Dad had the nerve to  _ high five  _ Mom. Dad settled down to breakfast and started in immediately. Through mouthfuls of cereal, he said, “What do you need, Alex? Last time you had that look on your face, you asked for a car. What is it now?”

Damn. My parents had spent the past twenty years getting to know me, and now they knew every one of my tricks. Oh, well. I had dug myself in this deep; might as well see where it led. “I was just thinking that I’m getting older, and, well, my dorm room is just seeming a little too small, you know? Some of the off-campus apartment complexes have some really good deals right now, so I was thinking maybe we could drive out there and look around…”

Dad slowly sipped his coffee and turned his frosty gaze in my direction. “I didn’t know they changed your soccer scholarship to include off-campus housing.”

Knowing I was in dangerous territory, I nevertheless stepped forward. “Well, they didn’t… But since you don’t pay for my college, and you didn’t get me a car, I was just thinking that—”

Dad’s harsh laugh interrupted me. Mom turned away, so I couldn’t read her expression, but her shaking shoulders gave me the sneaking suspicion that she was trying to hold back laughter. No help there. Dad’s guffaws continued, so loud that I couldn’t get out two words over the noise.

Finally, Dad got himself under control. He seemed surprised that I was still sitting in front of him. “Did you get a job?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to live in the dorms, kiddo.”

“I licked one piece of cereal and put it into your bowl. Think about that while you’re eating.”

“There’s my boy.”

* * *

The hours of my winter break seemed to crawl by, and I began to truly appreciate exactly how much freedom I had enjoyed at school. Once you get that taste, there’s no going back. Even though I didn’t have a car, there was at least public transportation, elsewise my bike would get me somewhere nearby. College towns are ordinarily laid out so people without transportation can still get around easily. And if all else failed, there was usually at least one person I could beg a ride from.

Mom and Dad still had to work through the holidays, so there was no spare car lying around for me to use. While they were gone, I was trapped inside. It was then that I realized how distant I had grown from my high school friends, choosing to cultivate new friendships over trying to keep up with people I probably honestly would never see again. Those that I still kept in close contact with, such as Brayden, seemed to have all chosen places other than their hometowns to vacation this year.

So what was a bored, young adult male all alone in a large, empty house to do?

It was awkward being back in my parents’ house and settling down to masturbate. Granted, I had touched my dick for many a year in that house, but that was when it was  _ my _ room. I was technically staying in the guest bedroom, and Mom had decorated it choc full of throw pillows, chic furniture, and fake plants. Family portraits lined the walls and the dresser. Nothing is more awkward than getting a chubby when Grandma is smiling down on you.

_ Someone _ had to be around to alleviate my boredom. But who lived close enough to my parents, with a car, willing to drive me around, and hadn’t gone out of town on vacation?

“Bored,” I texted Grayson.

I got several texts in rapid succession, devoid of punctuation and proofreading, as if they were sent as soon as they were typed.

“WHOA”

“NO”

“DO NOT”

“IM AT WORK”

“NO PICTIRS”

Deciding to let him sweat a little, I sent him a picture anyway. In it, I was giving a big, false grin as well as the middle finger.

Grayson replied, “I take back every nice thing I’ve ever said about you.” Then a second text that said, “Want to run later? I get off at 4, so 5?”

Never one to simply accept things as they are, I texted, “Dinner first?”

Nearly an hour went by before Grayson finally responded, “Sure. I’ll come pick you up, and we can eat at my place.”

Well, well, well. A home cooked meal from my favorite obsession? I was already dreading how I would be screwing up what could otherwise be a perfect evening.

Not trusting myself to call her, I texted my mom and let her know I wouldn’t be eating at home. Still needing to kill some time, I lounged on the couch, channel surfing but not really paying attention to what was on. I was thinking back to the very first night I had met Grayson and how he had made hot dogs for dinner. The following meal he had cooked had been much better, but Brayden had done most of the hard labor. Had his cooking improved? In all honesty, I didn’t care if he served chicken nuggets and juice boxes, so long as I got to spend time with him.

By the time Grayson arrived, I had been pacing anxiously near the front door for the better part of an hour. My parents’ house was between Grayson’s work and his new house, so he picked me up on his way home. He was still dressed for work, and though it was a simple slacks and tie combo, my body reacted in a way it never had before. Usually my fantasies had him just stepping out of the shower or finishing a workout, barely clothed, but somehow imagining him fucking me while wearing a suit had me just as hard. Although, to be fair, he could probably wear a Santa suit, and I’d still have no problem with him fucking my brains out.

On the drive to his house, Grayson was uncharacteristically chatty, though his end of the conversation was all over the place, jumping from topic to topic without pause. For the most part, I contributed where I could, but I was content to merely sit and listen to him talk, his voice a soothing balm for my aching heart. My hand yearned to reach out and take his, to simply hold him or touch him for as long as I could.

When we arrived, Grayson went upstairs to change out of his work clothes. I couldn’t think of a way to ask him to stay in his suit without seeming like a complete pervert (which I suppose I am), so I bit my tongue in an effort to not say anything stupid. While I waited, I turned on a football game in the living room, then began pulling out things we might need to cook—a cutting board, a knife, a skillet, and a pot.

“What are you doing?”

I held a spatula in one hand and a pepper grinder in the other. “Aren’t we going to make dinner?”

“Oh, God, no. I can’t cook. I was going to order something.”

I slowly lowered the objects I held and placed them gently on the counter, defeated. I had had an image in my mind of us cooking a nice dinner together. “Well.” I glanced around at everything I had pulled out of his cupboards, resigning myself to put it all back, unused.

I don’t know what my face looked like at that moment, but some of what I felt must have shown through. Grayson amended hastily, “Of course, if you’d like to cook, I’ll see what I have.” He pulled open the refrigerator and stared inside blankly. When I looked over his shoulder, I had to hold back a laugh. It was practically empty apart from beer cans, wine bottles, and a jar of mayonnaise. His freezer was just as barren, containing exactly four frozen pizzas.

Laughing, I conceded, “Take out it is. You order it, and I’ll put this stuff away.”

Grayson rested his hand on my arm, and my heart skipped a beat. “Next time, then. Sorry, Alex, I really don’t cook.”

Grayson was still on the phone ordering take-out even after I had put everything away. I pulled a bottle of wine out of the fridge and was rummaging around for a corkscrew. He hung up the phone, and I was about to ask him for help finding it, when he said sharply, “Alex, no, no drinking tonight.”

“Why not?” I whined. “I turn twenty-one in four months!”

Shaking his head, Grayson said, “That’s not why.” He took the bottle from me and put it back in the fridge. Facing away from me, he struggled to say, “When I drink, I make very poor decisions around you.”

_ Oh? _

“What if I want you to make poor decisions?”

We both froze. 

Did I really just say that out loud?

Shit.

Time stood still. What should I say? Was there a hole I could crawl into and disappear? Grayson’s hand shook against the refrigerator door, still open. I would have given anything to know what thoughts passed through his head at that moment.

You know what? Fuck this.

I reached around and into the fridge to grab a beer can. My face next to his ear, I whispered, “I  _ really  _ want you to make poor decisions around me.”

Grayson still hadn’t moved, and I stepped back, opening the beer and taking a sip. It was a Yuengling, and it was fine. Bracing myself for having completely ruined whatever we had built between us, I left him in the kitchen to watch the football game I had turned on earlier.

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. I glanced in the kitchen, but Grayson hadn’t budged. At least he had closed the refrigerator door. I met the delivery driver at the door and signed for the food. Bringing it to the kitchen, I plopped it in onto the counter.

Watching him still brooding, I was suddenly fed up. You know what? It was time to clear the air.

Grabbing two forks, I opened up the food containers and started in on mine. Around mouthfuls of food, I confessed, “It’s not a secret that I find you attractive.  _ And _ you’ve already told me you think  _ I’m  _ attractive. So what’s wrong with that?”

When Grayson didn’t answer, I continued. “I know you see how I look at you. What you probably don’t realize is that I’ve  _ always  _ looked at you that way. From the very first minute I laid eyes on you, four years ago, I’ve wanted you.”

More silence. I was beginning to get irritated. Laying my fork down, I tried to meet his gaze, but he refused to look at me. “Grayson. I’m laying everything out here. You’ve got to give me  _ something _ . I’m telling you that I  _ want  _ to be with you, as more than friends, and more than…whatever you call two guys who send dick pics to each other.”

“And I told you that can’t happen.”

Well, with that attitude, maybe he should have stayed silent.

“And I don’t remember having a say in that decision,” I retorted. “Look, what are we now, anyway? I’m over at your place eating dinner. The way I look at it, we’re on a date.”

Grayson slammed his fist against the counter, and I jumped. He took several deep breaths to steady himself, then got a glass of water. Pointing at me, he said, “I don’t know what it is about you, but you’re the only person who gets me riled like this.” Clenching and unclenching his fist, he amended, “Not angry, but just upset. Frazzled. You’re unexpected, and I can never predict your words or actions. I don’t know anyone else like that.” He stared at the spot where his fist had hit the counter. “Sorry if I scared you. And I don’t think I apologized for the last time I lost my temper around you, either. I don’t…know what to do about you.”

I went back to eating my dinner. It was good, but I would have much rather spent the evening cooking something. I hate eating out when I knew I could have cooked the same meal but better.

“Well?”

Grayson looked up sharply. “Well, what?”

“You didn’t really answer me. I’m saying that I’ve liked you for the past four years. Think about it. I’ve made absolutely every excuse to be with you. And I’m saying that I want us to take this to the next step. I want to date you.”

Lips pursed, Grayson kept his jaw clamped shut. I could see him working over what I had said, trying to process things. I had dropped quite the bombshell on him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Grayson began speaking slowly and deliberately. “Alex, there’s something I need to tell you, which I hope will help you understand the position I’m currently in. I’ve already told you that when Brayden was first born, my ex-wife and I weren’t…exclusive. I dated a  _ lot  _ of people in high school and college, including my best friend at the time. We thought…even if things didn’t work out, that we could go back to the way things were. But we couldn’t. I lost a really great friend because we thought we could have both.  _ But it doesn’t work that way.” _

Anger washed through me. “You don’t know that the same thing would happen to us,” I argued. “You’re saying you wouldn’t even want to try because—what? You were in a relationship that ended shittily? There’s no reason why you should think it would turn out the same way between us!”

“I don’t want to risk it. Not with you.”

Grumbling, I muttered, “Well, it’s too late for that. Me and my big mouth have really fucked things up this time.” Louder, I said, “You really don’t think we can just, what, go back to what we had? Start tomorrow like I never said anything? I’m being serious, Grayson.  _ Four years _ I’ve kept this bottled up. But I can’t do that anymore.”

He sighed and finally looked at me. Propping his chin up on his hand, he asked, “Well, then? What do you suggest?”

I turned off my brain and resorted to my go-to decision-making process: Go with the high-risk, short-term reward and fuck any later consequences. What did they matter, anyway? Gently, I slid my hand across Grayson’s cheek, his stubble rough against my skin. Leaning in, I pressed my lips against his.

Lightning soared up my spine. How many times had I imagined this moment? I wanted him to pull me against him and just hold me, but he stood frozen in place, passively letting me kiss him. Knowing I’d be in for a lecture once we broke apart, I let my lips linger for as long as I could.

Finally, Grayson pushed against my shoulders and pulled back. His expression was pained, and when he spoke, it was a sword thrust through my heart. “Alex, we just can’t.”

Tears welled up, and I ferociously blinked them back. “Four years,” I hissed. “I’m not exaggerating, either. Four years I’ve been in love with you.”

Oh, fuck. Instantly, I knew I went too far.

I thought he’d get mad, but his face swept immediately into his stone-cold mask. The muscles tensed at his jaw were the only indication that he had even heard me. “I’m driving you home.”

_ “No!”  _ I didn’t mean to shout, yet Grayson didn’t even flinch. “Tell me you didn’t feel anything when I kissed you!”

“You’re behaving like a child.”

Oh, how I wanted to hit him! Instead, I shot back at him, “No, I’m really not. You’re not getting out of this conversation, no matter how uncomfortable it is! You do this every time. You stay really quiet, then lash out! And I’m not  _ leaving _ unless you can truthfully say you felt  _ nothing _ during that kiss!”

Hands clenched at his sides, Grayson stared pointedly over my shoulder and said hollowly, “I felt nothing when you kissed me.”

A chill raced through me, turning my blood to ice. No, I couldn’t accept that. Why wouldn’t he  _ look at me? _ Gripping his chin, I turned his face to mine and demanded, “Look me in the eyes and say that.” His blue eyes danced around, refusing to meet mine, but I was relentless. “Look at me!” I ordered.

Grayson’s eyes snapped shut, and he pushed me away.  _ “I can’t!”  _ he roared. “Of course I can’t admit that!” His hand clutched at the front of his shirt, and he hunched over. “Can’t you figure it out? All those times you thought up excuses to spend time with me, thinking you were clever and secretive. Fucking taking off your shirt when we were running, thinking you were being coy. God damn it, Alex! I was  _ happy _ with what we had! Every relationship I’ve ever been in has ended in an absolute shitstorm. I can’t  _ risk that with you. _ You’re too important to me!”

“That’s bullshit.”

My anger had simmered, and I waited for Grayson to glance in my direction before elaborating. “You’ve already decided that we won’t work, so you won’t even try? That’s  _ bullshit _ . I get a say in this, too, and I say that I’d rather make the attempt than spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been.”

Grayson sank the rest of the way to the floor and placed his head in his hands. “You’re sixteen years younger than me.”

I sat next to him, close enough that our hips and legs touched. “I don’t care about that. I care about  _ you.” _ My fingers tiptoed across my leg and onto his before resting my palm on his knee. “You know what I looked forward to most about tonight? Just getting an opportunity to spend time with you. That’s all I ever think about—just being near you and talking to you.”

A short snort. “Liar. I know you well enough to know that’s not all you think about. Fuck, I have photo evidence to back that up.”

I smiled. “Okay, you got me. I think about doing a lot of stuff to you.” I slid my hand into his and leaned my head against his shoulder. “But I’d really like to take some time showing you that I’m serious about this, that I want more between us than just sex.”

His mouth covered mine, and I nearly fainted in surprise. When he finally broke the kiss, Grayson’s voice was raspy. “I know you’re serious about this. I can see it in your eyes. You wear every emotion on your face like a neon sign. That’s why I can barely look at you. I’m too afraid that if I let you, you’d break down my resolve.”

My own voice was husky as I replied, “Then why are we stopping ourselves? Why not just do what feels right?”

Another chuckle. “You were the one who just said we should take this slow.”

My brain had melted from the kiss, and I was having trouble stringing thoughts together. “That was stupid, a stupid idea.” I ran my hand under his shirt, fire burning my skin where we touched.

Grayson gently gripped my wrist and held me still. Gravely, he said, “As much as I’d love to throw caution to the wind, I think you were right. Neither of us are in a mindset to be making these choices right now. We were just fighting a few minutes ago.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “I’m still not entirely convinced that I’m not dreaming right now. I do a lot of that when I’m around you.”

“What?”

“Daydream.” My cock was pushing uncomfortably against my jeans. There was no way to covertly adjust myself, so I pushed at it, not caring if Grayson knew. Let him look. He’d seen it already, anyway.

“Fuck.”

Glancing up at Grayson, I saw he was eyeing the bulge my dick was making along my pant leg, his eyes halfway closed, his mouth slightly agape. I ran my hand along myself, watching his face as I teased him. My body warned me that I was rapidly approaching the point of no return, that if I didn’t stop now, I would be able to.

Never being known for my good decision making, I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, then pulled them down slightly. I continued rubbing my hand over myself through my underwear. Turning my head slightly, my lips kissed every inch of skin they could find. “I can’t control myself when I’m around you,” I admitted, whispering lightly in his ear. This close, I could see the tiny hairs along his neck standing on end.

Leaning back on my elbows, I pulled myself completely free of my underwear. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have to let my fantasies wander towards Grayson being involved. My world spun on its head, and I was left reeling, dizzy. Was this really happening? And had I started a chain of unstoppable events that would, as Grayson suggested, completely ruin everything we had built between us? No, I couldn’t believe that. Literally couldn’t think. My hand gently stroking my dick had driven all other thoughts from my brain.

Closing my eyes, I adjusted my hips so I was a little more comfortable on the linoleum floor, my hand stroking languidly up and down. I could feel Grayson moving beside me, shifting his body so his front was pressed against my side.

And then his hand was on me and his mouth was on my neck. Hot, white light erupted behind my eyelids, and I arched into him, moaning, panting, shaking. Heat coursed through my body. My hips bucked against Grayson’s hand of their own accord, and there was no stopping the noises escaping my lips.

“You really are something else.” Grayson’s voice was throaty. I gasped as another bolt of lightning coursed through me.

“I’m not going to last long,” I panted.

“Considering you weren’t going to pull out your dick at all, I’d say you’ve already lasted longer than you should have.”

I pried my eyes open and was startled to find Grayson’s face so close to mine. An ocean storm churned behind eyes that he so rarely turned in my direction, his passion matching the intensity of the lightning coursing through my own body. My jaw dropped, my head rolled back, and a moan coursed through me.

“You’re so noisy,” he laughed. “I love that about you.”

Several short breaths caught in my throat, and I knew I was close. “I’m going to cum,” I breathed. 

His reaction caught me off guard. Lips closed over my tip, his hand still working the shaft, and I couldn’t hold back. A mash of sounds tore through me as I spurted ropes of hot cum into his throat. Unable to hold myself up, I collapsed backward, my head thunking against the hard flooring, trying desperately to catch my breath. Tender kisses were placed along my stomach and up to my chin.

Grayson stretched out on the floor beside me and pulled me against his chest. Warmth settled around me, and I wiggled happily against him, content to simply…be.

Hot breath by my ear and more kisses down my neck. Something solid pressed against my hip. Oh, yeah. How could I have forgotten? Twisting around, I fumbled at his belt and pants, my fingers trying to work faster than my brain could process information.

“Hey, you don’t have to—”

“Oh, I want to.”

Pushing on his shoulder until Grayson was lying on his back, I moved down his body until my face was at his waist. Hastily, I tugged on his pants, eager to free him from those denim confines, to feel him and taste him.

“Oh? No underwear, huh?”

Red crept across his face, and I realized that I don’t think I had ever seen him blush. “I don’t like underwear,” he mumbled. “It’s not comfortable.”

Pulling him out from his jeans had me wondering if underwear even contained his entirety. How did he manage walking with that thing between his legs? There’s no way I’d ever manage to fit it completely in my mouth, but that wouldn’t stop me from trying.

I slid my lips down his length, relaxing my throat to get as much of him into my mouth as possible. Too soon, he bottomed out, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t fit any more. Wrapping my hand around what was left, I bobbed up and down, tongue rubbing against the skin as I went. A hand rested lightly on the back of my head, fingers twining through my hair, guiding me into a medium pace.

Not enough.

I needed so much more.

Yearning gripped my chest, and I moaned as I slammed my mouth up and down on his cock, being mindful of my teeth as I kept up the harsh pace. My free hand went to his balls, rolling them, caressing them. Sucking harshly, I dragged my lips up his length, moving back and forth over the tip. My hands gripped his hips and I once more started my frenzied rhythm, holding onto him for dear life as I tried to take as much as possible.

Fingers tapped against my head. “Slow down. It’s not a race.” Grayson tugged on my shirt, and I looked up. “Here, come kiss me.”

Still laying on the kitchen floor, I pulled myself up beside him. Lips and tongues met, and I could taste myself on him from earlier. Still aching with need, I reached between us and leisurely stroked his cock, holding myself back from resuming the manic pace from before.

“There we go, nice and slow. I was worried you were going to choke and hurt yourself.”

“If that’s how I die, then I’d have no problems.”

“And I don’t need to have people sign a waiver before they suck my dick.” Grayson placed light kisses across my forehead. “I lied earlier.”

“Hmm?”

“I need you to know that I lied earlier, when I said I didn’t feel anything when I kissed you.” Wrapping his arms around me, he pulled me in for another deep kiss. He pressed his body against mine, and I could feel his cock pulsing against my hand. “You do dangerous things to me. I can’t think clearly when I’m around you. It’s like…trying to focus on one sound over the crashing of waves against the shoreline. I can pick it out, but all the other sounds are so loud that I’m suddenly swept away. I can’t trust myself to make responsible decisions around you.”

Snuggling against him, I let my hand roam his body, feeling and touching every part of him. “I don’t need you to make responsible decisions. I’ll just counteract them anyway. All I need for you to do is love me.”

“I can do that.”

I moved back down his body and enveloped his cock with my mouth once more, laving it with my tongue. The heat was incredible, the connection electric. I couldn’t get enough. Saliva dripped down his shaft and onto my hands, the wetness allowing me to pump the skin more readily. The head bumped against the back of my throat as I worked my way up and down.

His hand was back, delicately pressing on the back of my head. Hips were thrust imperceptibly forward into the heat of my mouth. I let Grayson guide me into the rhythm and pace that he wanted, still maddeningly slower than I wanted to go, still craving to gallop forward, taking as much of him as I could all at once. Short gasps escaped his lips, and I smiled, overwhelmed by the feeling of pleasuring him.

Giving my mouth a break, I sat up on my knees between his legs, my hand still stroking, thumb caressing the underside of the glans, and I took all of him in. Still in complete disbelief that this was  _ really happening _ , I tried to commit this sight to memory lest I never see it again. Grayson’s jeans were pushed down to mid-thigh, his shirt halfway up his stomach. His eyes were closed, his mouth partly agape, lips moving with his quickened gasps of pleasure. His hands seemed unsure of where to be, his left hand gripping his thigh while his right hand reached out towards me, having been threaded in my hair and now seeking to make contact again. I slipped my free hand into his and placed soft kisses on each of his knuckles.

Hips were bucking urgently against my hand, so I placed my lips around his cock once more, sucking hard as I slid down as far as I could. God, I loved every inch of it. Unable to stop myself, I moaned wantonly as I dragged myself up and down.

“Fuck, Alex,” Grayson groaned. His eyes snapped open in order to watch my lips inch across his flesh, skin pulling along with them. “Keep going, this is perfect.”

Maintaining eye contact, I watched his every reaction as I continued to move up and down. Red had flushed his cheeks, and sweat beaded along his hairline. He began thrusting more urgently against me, pushing himself as deep as possible inside me. Without warning, he slipped himself out of my mouth and used his own hand to finish himself off. White jets of cum shot from his dick, one after the other, onto his shirt. Tugging on my arms, Grayson pulled me into another deep kiss, messy and urgent.

After finally catching his breath, Grayson looked down between us at the mess he had created. “Oops.” Sitting up, he tugged his shirt over his head and threw it across the room towards the door leading to the garage. After some tugging and maneuvering, his pants followed as well. “Washing machine is out there,” he explained before yawning. He glanced at the food on the counter. “Fuck, I should put that away, but all I want to do is nap.”

“You’re going to nap on the kitchen floor?” I asked, surprised.

“No, that’s a terrible idea.” But he yawned again and stretched back out on the floor.

Chuckling, I moved into the living room, took the blanket off the couch, and draped it over him. Immediately, his breathing deepened as he fell asleep. Grabbing his clothes from the floor, I went into the garage and, adding my own clothes as well, started a load of laundry. Afterwards, I set about putting our take-out into containers to store in the fridge for later. Grayson had barely touched his dinner, so I assumed he’d be ravenous when he woke up. I continued to tidy up, fetching my empty beer can from the living room and wiping down the counters. Not sure what else to do, I tried shaking Grayson awake to at least move him to the couch, but he wouldn’t budge.

Moving back to the living room, I stretched out on the couch and turned the TV on as background noise. Letting my thoughts wander, I couldn’t wrap my head around what had just happened. Four years of silence, and I finally admitted to Grayson how I felt about him. In fact, I’m pretty sure I used the word “love” at least once. Hopefully he wouldn’t regret what we had just done after he woke up. He had seemed fairly adamant about not wanting to start a relationship with me. Oh, well. I’m certain I could win in a stubbornness contest, especially since apparently all I had to do to win was whip my dick out.

I groaned. I can’t believe I did that. Before I had taken absolute leave of my senses, I hadn’t planned on sucking his dick. Though could anyone really blame me? Besides, before tonight, I had sent him all kinds of pictures of me in plenty of lewd positions, so blow jobs should be fairly tame in comparison. Right?

Sure.

But what  _ did _ this mean? I was honestly happy with the relationship we had already built together. We had similar interests, and we already did things together, such as running and working out. If adding sex on top of those things was all we did, I’d be more than happy.

Glancing towards the kitchen, my stomach twisted. What would Grayson say, after he woke up? Would he regret what we did? Would he try to feed me that same bullshit about not being able to be in a relationship because of what may have happened in the past?

One line from that conversation struck me, and I gripped it, nurturing it, refusing to let it go. “You’re too important to me,” he had said. Wasn’t that simply another way to say “I love you?” If so, than that was plenty enough for me.

I fell into a fitful sleep, woken a few times by noises from the TV. Still naked, I began to shiver, but having given Grayson the blanket from the couch and not wanting to snoop around his house, I didn’t have many options. Not really knowing the time, I finally hauled myself up off the couch and moved the laundry in the garage to the dryer. On my way back through the kitchen, I poked at Grayson.

He was dead.

Ha, ha! No, he’s not really dead! Could you imagine? What a terrible thing to have happened! No, really, he’s just sleeping. This is not a damn  _ telenovela _ . But if it was, that would have fit perfectly.

Still asleep, I shook Grayson a little more firmly. He squirmed under the blanket and drew it over his head. Another shake, and he yawned and stretched. Blinking wearily up at me, he asked, “What time is it?”

I glanced at the clock. Really? “It’s already past midnight.”

Another stretch, and he sat up. Glancing around, he said, “What the fuck? Did I really fall asleep on the floor?” He clamped his hand to his back. “Oh, God, I’m too old to sleep on the floor. My back is killing me. Why am I still naked?” He looked at me. “And you’re naked, too.” He held up his hand and demanded, “Help me up.”

When he was on his feet, he pulled me in close and wrapped the blanket around us. Kissing me gently on the forehead, he said, “Rule one for this relationship is that you never let me sleep on the floor again. I’m a heavy sleeper, so you’ll have to kick me awake.”

My hands snaked over his body, freely roaming every inch as my heart soared with glee. So far, all my anxious musings had been proven wrong. He even used the word “relationship.”

He glanced at the clock again and groaned. “I’m going to hate myself in the morning when I have to wake up for work. Did I even eat dinner?”

I shook my head no. “Unless you count semen as dinner.”

“That’s barely even one food group.”

Grayson let the blanket fall and set about getting a glass of water. I grinned devilishly as I watched him move naked about the kitchen. Suddenly wanting to take a picture, I grabbed my phone from the kitchen counter but got sidetracked when I noticed several missed texts from my mom wondering when I’d be home. Ah, shit.

“Staying with a friend,” I typed. But I couldn’t bring myself to hit “send.” Here was a very slippery slope. If I sent this text, I would be lying to my mother, and I’ve made a very sincere resolution never to do that to her again. Lying led nowhere but trouble. But this was also not a texting conversation, and I couldn’t bring myself to say, “Sleeping with Grayson.”

Finally, after several moments of typing and deleting, I sent, “I’m staying over with someone tonight. I’ll talk to you more about it when I get home.”

There. That sounded good.

Ah, one more.

“I love you, Mom.”

Grayson eyed me curiously but didn’t press. It suddenly hit me that he might want to keep our relationship a secret. I mean, how awkward would it be to tell Brayden about us? And if this  _ really  _ went somewhere, whose best man would Brayden be? Okay, definitely getting ahead of myself. Calm down.

“Mom was wondering where I am,” I admitted.

He nodded. I watched his face carefully as the same realizations seemed to dawn on him. Still, he stayed silent.

Glancing at his phone, Grayson groaned again. “We’re going to have to get up really early tomorrow.” He adjusted his alarm clock. “I’ll need to drop you off at your house before I head to work. For now, let’s go to bed.”

His bedroom was stark in comparison to how my parents decorated their home; it simply contained the barest necessities: a bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and a lamp. There were no pictures or knick-knacks, no fake plants or clutter. Though spartan, I found myself at ease, more so than how I felt surrounded by throw pillows and junk.

Grayson drew back the covers. What he hadn’t spent on décor, he splurged on his bed. The mattress was like laying on a cloud, the sheets smooth against my bare skin. And when he lay beside me and drew me into my arms, I practically melted against him, almost at once falling into a deep sleep.

Something bothered me, though, tapping anxiously against my skull, not letting me sleep. Grayson was the type of person to keep things bottled up, secured until I poked at the issue just enough times that he exploded. Completely the opposite, I had to let things air out, bare them the minute they became a problem, lest they fester and hurt me.

“Grayson,” I whispered, wondering if he was already asleep.

“Hmm?” His breathing was slowing. He was probably just on the verge of dreamland.

“Something’s bothering me,” I admitted. “Earlier, when I was texting my mom, you seemed trepidatious. Was it alright that I told her, or did you want to keep this secret?” God, saying that out loud made me sound like someone’s mistress, tucked away in a secluded seaside cabin taken out only to fuck before hidden away once more.

But so long as I could be with him, I realized I would put up with any restriction he put on this relationship, no matter how lopsided it became.

I could see him struggling to pull back to full awareness. Maybe I should have waited until morning to have this conversation. But, knowing me, my mouth would have formed the words no matter what.

“Why would I keep you secret? You—” He yawned abruptly, cutting off his next words. “This is important to you, but I’m so sleepy.” Rubbing his eyes, he shook his head, trying to bring himself further into the waking world. “No, I was just thinking about how…this is real, and…that kids can eat free at Applebee’s on Wednesdays, so…”

Wait, was that a joke about my age?

I slugged him in the upper arm. “Ass,” I chided.

“Mmm, no, I have to work tomorrow, so we’ll have to postpone the ass. As much as I’d love to. Come here.” He held open his arms in a big circle, and I scooted over into them. “I want to hold you until I fall asleep. That way, when you think this was all a dream, you’ll remember…”

But he had already nodded off.

Man, if I had that kind of superpower, of being able to fall to sleep at the drop of a hat, I’d bottle that shit and sell it, make some real motherfucking money.

Maneuvering myself until I was more comfortable, back pressed against his chest, my ass touching his dick, I sighed contentedly into his arms. This was nice; I could get used to this. Until a semi-urgent problem began to arise.

What did Miss Manners say about jerking yourself off in your brand-new boyfriend’s bed while he slept? Is there a ruling on that? I mean,  _ he _ had to go to work tomorrow, sure, but  _ I _ didn’t. Could I just jack off a little? I mean, every sexual fantasy I had had for the past four years was laying ass naked behind me, pressed against me…what else was I supposed to do?

Who am I kidding? My hand was already on my dick, fisting myself like some kind of pervert who masturbates next to their sleeping boyfriend.

Hands slid down my sides. Was his skin really that smooth, or had I built him up to the embodiment of perfection after all this time? “Alex,” he complained, “I’m a heavy sleeper, but of course  _ that  _ is going to wake me up. What are you doing?”

“Shh,” I whispered, never stopping my frantic tugging. “You’re dreaming right now. This is all just a very good dream.”

Tender kisses across my shoulder blades, each one placed slowly and deliberately. “Please, Alex, I will devote every second of this weekend to you, but right now, I have an alarm set for 5:30 a.m., and I need to sleep.”

My hand didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. It’d all be over soon anyway.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” I said by way of apology. “Just give me a few more minutes, or I can go into the bathroom.”

Covers were thrown back with such force that it startled me. Before I could blink, Grayson was straddling my hips and had my wrists pinned to the bed up by my head. Leaning close, he growled, “You are very quickly going to lose your sleepover privileges.”

And just like that, he had let me go, and I was back in his mouth and oh—

Fireworks erupted through my body and behind my eyes. I arched up off the bed with a groan. Hands sought out my ass and pinched and rolled the skin there. Gleefully, I wiggled against the contact, wanting desperately to—

I didn’t lie when I said I would last long. There wasn’t time for me to warn Grayson as I shot into his mouth. He took it all and swallowed. When he was sure I had finished, he released me from his mouth and looked up into my eyes.

“Satisfied?”

His words sounded accusatory, but I could see the smile playing about his eyes and lips. “I’m never satisfied,” I purred, squirming against the bed sheets.

Grayson pulled the covers back over us and pulled me back into his arms. “I’m beginning to get the impression that you’ll be absolutely insatiable. There won’t be time to tell anyone about our relationship because we’ll spend the rest of our lives in my bedroom.”

“I’m fine with that.”

A nose wriggled against my hair before Grayson shifted his head to a more suitable position. “You smell good,” he mumbled, and I could tell he was already falling back to sleep. Before he managed to drift off, however, he said, “Tomorrow, I’ll go to your house and talk to your parents. I know you have a really good relationship with them. I want you to know that I’d never hide you.”

“Then you’ll tell Brayden about us?”

I could feel him tense against me, and he was silent for a minute. Wondering if he had drifted off, I was surprised when he spoke. “Yes, I’ll tell Brayden about us. As awkward as that conversation will be…of course I’ll tell him.”

“But you had to think about it first.”

Short kisses along the spot where the back of my head met my neck. “Of course I did. I was thinking about how to start that conversation. He’s off skiing with his girlfriend in Colorado for winter break, so I was thinking if I should call him and tell him over the phone, or if I should wait until he gets back to tell him in person.”

“Your long pauses…”

“Ah, yes.” Grayson shifted again, pulling me as tightly against his body as possible. “My parents called me ‘pensive.’ I’m very introspective and share very little. It’s very hard for others to interpret. They fill the silence with wild assumptions of what I’m thinking about.”

I chuckled. “Of that, I am very guilty. Could you…try letting me know what you’re thinking?”

“Thirty-six years of doing it is an awfully hard habit to break, but for you…” More kisses along my neck. “For you, I’ll try anything. Now,  _ please _ , I really do need to sleep.”

Finally relenting, I closed my eyes and drifted off…

…And was awoken entirely too early by the alarm clock. Groaning in displeasure, I rolled over and pulled the covers over my head, only to be shaken roughly by Grayson.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he insisted. “You’re the one who wanted to stay up all night, and now it’s time you reap what you’ve sown. Wake up!”

Grumbling, I sat up slowly. “This is terrible,” I complained. “Why do you have to wake up so early?”

“It’s called having a job, you freeloader. Also, I still need to drop you off at your house before going to work. Unless you want to be stuck here all day.”

That sounded wonderful. I fell back onto the bed and snuggled under the covers. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do. Good night.”

Another rough shake. “Come on, I’ll bribe you. Get up now, and you can shower with me.”

Practically sprinting to the bathroom, I jiggled his shower handles. Trying to figure out someone else’s shower is one of the most anxiety-driven experiences in existence, but I managed.

Grayson poked me in the chest. “Alex, I’m not kidding, I don’t have time to fool around this morning.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw he was the one with the morning wood. “Again, I  _ promise, _ this weekend I will make it up to you. So for the next hour, you are going to have to be the responsible one, because right now, all I want to do is spend the morning fucking you.”

“And there goes my resolve. There’s no way I can be the responsible one.”

Grayson chewed his bottom lip. “I have a feeling that showering together won’t be a good idea…”

I pushed him into the stream of water and clamored in after him, shutting the door behind us before he could react. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

Before I knew it, he had me pushed against the shower wall, lips moving hastily across my neck and chest, hands gripping my sides. Was this a test? He did tell me I was supposed to be the responsible one, but how the  _ fuck  _ was I supposed to maintain control while being attacked like this?

With the deepest regret, I pushed on his shoulders. “Something, something about work,” I griped, “but you do that again, and you’ll just have to call in sick.”

Flushed in the face and breathing heavily, Grayson’s erection poked my thigh. “I might just do that.”

Surprising both of us, I stepped out of the shower and closed the door between us. “Fuck it,” I panted. “I’ll just have to shower when I get home.” Regretfully, I toweled off and headed downstairs to retrieve my clothes from the dryer. It was the hardest thing I had ever done. After getting dressed, I set about making coffee. Opening the fridge, I remembered he had absolutely nothing to eat—apart from our leftovers from yesterday, but who eats kung pao chicken for breakfast?

About half an hour later, Grayson plodded downstairs, immaculately groomed for work. Once more the sight of him in a suit had an incredible effect on my body. “I’m sucking your dick while you’re wearing a suit,” I informed him. “Just so you’re aware, that’s happening.”

He nodded, not even fazed. “Thanks for making coffee…and thank you for being the responsible one earlier. I’ve got a big meeting this morning, and I’d be in deep shit if I missed it. Technically, it doesn’t start until 8, but I need to make sure I’m prepared.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Listen, I’ll come over tonight after I get off work, and we can talk to your parents. How does that sound?”

I fidgeted nervously, bitterly anxious about having this conversation with my parents. Simultaneously, my heart soared, unable to believe Grayson and I were actually in a committed relationship. Although, another part of me was in complete denial and kept wondering when I’d wake up.

On the drive home, I began to sweat nervously. How would my parents respond to this news? There was no way to predict how they’d react; they could swing wildly either way.

Letting myself into the house, I was surprised my parents weren’t awake yet. Glancing at the clock, I was shocked to see it was only 6:30. Even though I was a morning person, I still preferred to sleep in until at least 7:00. Putting on a pot of coffee, I decided to make my parents breakfast. They might be more amenable to my news on a full stomach.

Searching through the pantry, I pulled out a sack of grits. Going full Southern, I grabbed cheese, butter, and chicken broth from the refrigerator as well as bacon and grapefruit. Mom walked blearily into the kitchen as I was finishing plating the cheese grits, bacon, and halved grapefruit. She stopped dead in her tracks in the doorway, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Alexander Matthew Hayes, what game are you playing this time?”

Ah, shit, using the middle name. I really needed to make breakfast more often, throw my parents off their game.

“Let’s wait for Dad.”

As I continued laying out breakfast, I tried to ignore the looks my mother was shooting my way. Dad ambled into the kitchen a few minutes later and sat down to the kitchen table, barely even acknowledging the breakfast laid before him before digging in.

“Bacon,” Dad mumbled around bites. “We never have bacon. What’s the occasion?”

“Rick.” My mother’s tone had Dad freeze with a spoonful of grits halfway to his mouth. He looked up and started as if just noticing I was there. “Rick, your son made us breakfast this morning.”

“Oh, no.”

Wow. Was I really that predictable?

Dad laid his spoon beside his bowl and gave me his full attention. “First it was a car, then an apartment. What is it now? A loan for $100,000?”

“No, nothing that extreme. In fact, this time I don’t need anything from you at all. I have some news.”

Mom blanched, and Dad gripped the sides of the table. Jumping to conclusions must run in my family.

“I started seeing someone. It was a little unexpected and sudden, but it’s pretty serious.”

Dad nodded slowly, processing, before continuing his breakfast. “Sounds great. I’m happy for you.”

“Rick, put down the bacon. Our son made us breakfast. There’s more to this story than meets the eye.” To me, she inquired, “How long have you known him for?”

Clearing my throat, I answered, “About four years.”

A long silence followed before Dad asked, “It’s not that kid I caught in your bed, is it?”

Who—? Oh, yeah. Shit, what was his name? Zeke? No, that’s not right. Isaiah. Wow. How could I have forgotten his fucking name? “No, not him. Though, he is, ah, older.”

“Just hurry up and tell us. My grits are getting cold.”

“Rick!”

Suddenly, I was choked. His name wouldn’t roll off my tongue. “He’s, ah—well, you know him. It’s, ah…Grayson. Hartman.” Wow, I hadn’t called him “Hartman” in, what, two years? The name sounded wrong, inappropriate.

A look crossed Dad’s face that I’ve never seen on another human being before. I couldn’t place what mix of emotions passed across his face, and I didn’t think I cared to.

Surprisingly, my mother was absolutely beaming. She pulled me into her arms into a tight hug and burst into tears. “Oh my God,” she cried, “I’m so happy for you! I can still remember you telling me you loved him, and I thought you were absolutely crazy. I knew you still kept in touch with him, and that he went to your games, but, oh, Alex, I had no idea!” Reaching blindly across the table, she took Dad’s hand in her own. “Alex, we  _ love  _ Grayson. Don’t we, Rick?”

Dad floundered for words, and my stomach dropped. Finally, he settled on, “He’s a little  _ old _ , isn’t he?”

“Honestly? Yeah, he is,” I admitted. “And that’s something we’ll always have to work through.”

Squeezing Mom’s hand, Dad said, “You’ll just have to give me a little while. I was not expecting this. Never in a million years.” He looked at Mom pointedly. “But it seems like  _ you  _ knew. How long has this been going on?”

“Four years,” I answered.

It was Dad’s turn to pale. “My God. He didn’t—when you were sixteen—”

_ “No!” _ Choked by anger, I spat, “I didn’t even know he liked me until last night!”

Mom smiled and patted my hand. “Of course he liked you. I wish I had recorded him at your soccer games. No one else cheered so loudly for you. And his smile…Alex, it’s obvious how he feels about you.”

My heart leaped into my throat. He did? But…why hadn’t he…?

Dad threw his hands up in the air. “Apparently, I’m clueless about all this. Well, Alex, so long as you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

“He’s coming by tonight to talk to you.”

Mom beamed. “Oh, I  _ do love  _ Grayson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter we've all been waiting for! :D There are four more chapters after this. I'm currently finishing up the last chapter. Leave me a note in the comments if there's anything specific you'd like to see. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but this chapter took me forever and a day to write. This is the chapter that completely threw off my writing schedule. I started uploading chapters of Terrible to motivate myself to finish this chapter. I lied. I do know why this chapter took me forever to write. It's the gratuitous amount of sex. :3

Restlessness seized me, and I paced around the house the remainder of the day. Mom worked a half day and spent the morning at the grocery store, planning for an enormous feast for dinner. Dad happened to be scheduled to work from home and spent the remainder of that day conspicuously closed in his office, not even coming out for his lunch break. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to avoid me, or if he was just really busy. Whenever I passed by, I could hear him on a teleconference, but sometimes Dad gets weird about certain things.

“Mom’s making you dinner,” I texted Grayson around 8 before remembering he told me he would be busy in a meeting. Oh, well.

TV couldn’t keep my attention, and I had moved all of my video games to the dorm with me. I wasn’t much of a reader, so I went for a jog around the neighborhood. By the time I returned, showered, and dressed, it was still morning, and I resigned myself to watching time slowly crawl by.

Mom got off work an hour early so she could start dinner, and I helped her, giving myself a much-needed way to keep my mind occupied. She went all out. Roast chicken, collard greens, green beans, mashed potatoes, and homemade biscuits. Mom wouldn’t let me touch her biscuit dough, slapping my hands away. “You over knead my biscuits, and you’ll ruin them.”

Dad’s nose carried him downstairs. When he peaked inside the oven, he jumped for joy. “Best day of my life! Bacon  _ and  _ biscuits?” He swept Mom into his arms and kissed all over her face, sending her into a fit of giggles.

My phone chimed, and when I glanced at it, I saw it was a text from Grayson. “Should I go home and change first?”

My body recalled how fucking fantastic he had looked in his suit, and I replied, “If you don’t want me jumping you in the middle of dinner, you might want to change. Also, you might want to wear underwear. Just saying.”

“How’d they take it? You talk to them yet?”

“Mom’s ecstatic.” I took a picture of the veggies on the stove and sent it to him. “She’s cooking a fucking feast over here.”

“And your dad?”

I glanced at Dad, studying him. He seemed more relaxed than this morning. Usually he took things fairly well in stride. “I think he’s fine. He was a little perturbed about the age difference, but he’ll get over it. Mom will make sure he gets over it.”

Mom was humming as she basted the chicken, a tune I didn’t recognize, but it elicited a giant grin from Dad. God, my parents are so cute, it makes me want to vomit.

Dinner was coming out of the oven as a knock sounded on the door. Flying into the foyer, I was practically jumping out of my skin as I greeted Grayson. He gave me a light peck on the cheek.

“Still wearing your suit, I see,” I smirked.

Sheepishly, he admitted, “I know you like it, so I decided not to spend an extra forty-five minutes driving home and changing.” Sniffing the air, he followed the smells of dinner to the kitchen. My feet suddenly dragged, leaden, unbearably anxious about how this next scene might play out.

Did I mention earlier that I tended to jump to conclusions? The word is “catastrophizing,” where you automatically assume the absolute worst will happen.

When I entered the kitchen, Grayson was shaking hands with my dad, completely at ease with the situation. His repose helped me relax as well.

“Dinner smells absolutely delicious, Carol. Thanks so much for having me over.”

I kept my attention completely on my mother, for some reason unable to face my father. Grayson helped my mom set the table while I stood awkwardly to the side. Dad grabbed beers from the fridge, though I noticed he placed a glass of water at my spot. Come on, what’s another four months?

I had forgotten my parents spent all that time with Grayson in the stands at my soccer games. Conversation started easily, and I continued to unwind. Apparently completely fine with the situation, Dad conversed with ease, having no clue how apprehensive he had made me all day.

After dinner, Mom cleared our plates and pulled homemade pistachio pudding out of nowhere. Did she have these things readily available, just in case? Dad and I glanced at each other and suddenly lost ourselves in laughter.

“What?” Mom demanded.

Dad clutched his side, trying to catch his breath. “I have been in and out of that fridge all week, and I swear to you, there was no pudding before.”

“Mom just magics food out of nowhere, Dad. Haven’t you realized it by now?”

“I should have noticed she was a witch when she rode a broomstick into the chapel.”

Our puddings suddenly disappeared and were placed in front of Grayson. “Are you sure you want to date my wretch of a son?” she asked him. “I may be a witch, but he’s an absolute monster.”

Grayson’s mouth was too full of pudding to answer. Dad and I watched jealously. Mom’s pistachio pudding was a coveted treat. She was right to hide it from us.

Miffed, Dad pulled three wine glasses from the cabinet, uncorked a bottle of Zinfandel, and poured it. Placing Mom’s glass in front of her, he said, “Please beg my pardon, madam. I did not mean to upset you.”

I wasn’t nearly as polite as my father. Waiting for the right moment, I simply snatched my pudding back from Grayson. Fearing retribution, I ran to the living room with it, bent over the little dish like a ravenous squirrel, scooping spoonfuls into my mouth.

From the kitchen, I heard my mom sigh and say, “No, he’s always been like that.”

The remainder of the evening progressed pleasantly. My parents and Grayson shared two bottles of wine and chatted away like old friends. All sense of awkwardness had completely disappeared. I sat beside Grayson at the kitchen table, my hand entwined in his, unable to keep the large grin from my face. Frequently I found myself unable to follow the conversation, lost in thought about how lucky I was.

Finally, Grayson announced he was leaving. I gamboled behind him, following him to his car. He placed a chaste kiss on my cheek. “I’m glad I did this, Alex. I had a really nice time with your parents. They’re wonderful people.”

“I know.” I bounced up and down on the balls of my feet, trying to think of a way to get him to invite him to his house. Knowing me, I’d probably just ask tactlessly, “Can I come over?”

Grayson’s laugh let me know that I had absolutely said that out loud. “Not tonight. I have to go back to work in the morning. But”—he slid his hand around my waist and pulled me flush against him—“I’ll come pick you up tomorrow night, and you can stay over the whole weekend. How does that sound?”

Snuggling into his chest, I nodded my head. “Promise?”

“Absolutely. I think that’ll be the easiest promise I’ll ever make.”

* * *

Friday dragged by, and I once more found myself restlessly pacing around the house. Both my parents were at work, so I didn’t even have anyone to keep me company. I went for another jog around the neighborhood and once more found that it took much less time than I needed to kill.

I don’t know what possessed me to try and make cinnamon rolls, but when Mom came home for her lunch break and saw me elbow deep in dough, she looked at me like I had grown an extra head.

“Oh, Alex, what now?” Her tone was accusatory, her hands on her hips.

Staring at her, I blinked several times before I realized what she meant. Laughing hysterically, I explained, “No, really, no ulterior motive this time! I was just bored!”

Muttering to herself, she strode through the kitchen, peering into my measuring bowls and eyeing the dough I was kneading. “Next time, I have a bread machine, if you’d like to use that instead. You’re less likely to overwork your dough.” She peeked at my recipe and nodded with approval. “You found a good one. They should come out really tasty.”

“I’m staying at Grayson’s tonight.”

“Okay.”

And that was that. No arguments, no gasps…really no reaction at all. Grayson was right. There was an unspoken, undefinable point where you suddenly shifted from “child” to “adult.” Before, Mom would have asked me all kinds of details, like where I was going, who I was going with, what time I’d be home…now it was just “okay.”

“I love you, Mom.”

“Love you, too, Alex. But if you leave a mess in my kitchen, I will unmake you.”

* * *

Somehow I managed to lose track of time and was actually surprised when Grayson knocked on the front door. My parents weren’t home yet, and I pulled him to me in a deep kiss. I remembered three years ago, bringing Isaiah up to my room to sleep with him, and part of me thought about a repeat experience, dragging Grayson upstairs to fuck him. But once more, I recalled that the room upstairs was no longer “my room,” just a spare bedroom that I stayed in during holiday breaks. There was a surprising wrench in my gut as I recognized this weird limbo of housing.

“You’re not bringing anything?” Grayson’s voice dragged me back to the present, and I blinked stupidly at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I was planning on keeping you until I had to leave for work Monday morning. You don’t want to bring a toothbrush or a change of clothes?”

“Oh!” No, I hadn’t thought about that. God, he really meant the  _ whole  _ weekend? Part of me wondered if I’d need a change of clothes if I planned on spending the entire time naked. “Give me five minutes!” Racing upstairs, I threw a few things into a duffel bag, not really caring what I packed and what I didn’t.

Back downstairs, I locked the house behind me and followed Grayson to his truck. Climbing in and tossing the bag at my feet, a huge grin suddenly split my face. I couldn’t believe this was happening! A whole weekend with Grayson!

Grayson smiled at me before turning his attention to driving. “Are you and your folks staying in town for Christmas?”

Christmas? With everything that had happened, I completely forgot about the holidays. What day was Christmas this year, anyway? Tuesday? Was Monday really Christmas Eve? Luckily, I had already finished shopping before break started.

“I think so,” I said haltingly. “I’m sure Mom told me the whole plan, and I’m sure I tuned her out.” Embarrassed, I admitted, “I don’t have a present for you.”

A light chuckle. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure we’ll do  _ plenty  _ this weekend to make up for it.”

“Do you really work Christmas Eve?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I volunteered this year. Brayden’s still on his ski trip, but Craig and Monica usually claim him for the big, family holidays. It’s fine, though. I’m not really a ‘holiday person.’”

“You don’t visit your parents during the holidays?”

A pained look crossed his face. “They kind of…disowned me, when I got Monica pregnant in high school. Or, I guess, when we all  _ thought _ I got Monica pregnant. They’re kind of kooky. I tried patching things up about ten years ago but eventually decided it wasn’t worth the effort.”

“I’m so sorry.”

A quick shrug. “Don’t worry about it. They live in Miami, anyway, so visiting them would be a hassle. My sister relays any news, but she’s grown apart from them in recent years, too.” He smiled at me. “That’s why I’m so happy when I see how well you get along with your parents. And a large part of why I tried to provide as much family structure for Brayden as possible.”

With startling ease, Grayson steered the subject towards Brayden’s ski trip and away from his parents. Brayden and his girlfriend, Melissa, had been dating for over two years, and Brayden had texted me pictures of the ring he was going to use to propose to her during the trip. It was Melissa’s great-grandmother’s ring. Her family had plans to fly out to the resort after the proposal to complete the surprise. The cynical part of me wondered what would happen if she said “no.”

As we grew closer to the house, Grayson grew conspicuously quiet, his brow wrinkling. Part of me wanted to panic, wondering if I had done something to upset him, but having spent over four years carefully observing him, I knew he wasn’t angry. When he was angry, or biting back words he wanted to say, he kept that anger tensed in his jaw. This was a different feeling, and I recalled how he said people tended to jump to conclusions when he grew quiet like this.

He was still wearing his suit from work, which is how I noticed the erection tenting the fabric. Good God, how did he walk around with that thing? Did he ever think about using duct tape?

But at least now I knew what he was thinking about.

Which caused my own thoughts to run rampant, mind racing through every possible scenario for this weekend. After all this time of fantasizing about Grayson, I had quite the library to pull from.

As we neared the driveway, Grayson said, “When we get to the house, do not stop for anything. Go straight up to the bedroom, and I’ll meet you there. I’m barely controlling myself as it is right now.”

Shivering in anticipation, I joked, “I thought you preferred the kitchen floor.”

“No, I’m too old to do that shit again. My back still hurts from sleeping there.”

Grayson pulled his truck into the garage, parked, and turned his predatory gaze in my direction. “I’m not kidding. Get upstairs.” He shifted uncomfortably, and I was once more impressed at seeing his erection tugging at his pants midway down his thigh. Like a goddamn porn star. Not like I was complaining.

Shrugging, I grabbed my duffel bag and let myself into the house through the garage. Dropping my bag on the kitchen floor, I made my way upstairs, tugging my clothes off as I went, leaving them behind me like a debauched trail of breadcrumbs.

I barely made it into the bedroom when Grayson appeared behind me. He tugged uncomfortably at his tie. “You said you liked the suit. Want me to keep it on?”

Shaking my head, I said, “No. I want to be able to touch you.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, I commanded, “So strip.”

“Gladly.”

Starting with his tie, he slowly worked his way through undressing. The tie, he tossed at me, and I wondered how it would feel to be tied up with it. I had done a lot, but I didn’t know if I could be that adventurous. He shrugged out of his coat and let it fall to the floor. The buttons on his shirt were tediously slow. Having already gotten naked, I gazed on, my legs spread open, my cock tapping impatiently against my stomach.

When he unbuttoned his pants, my jaw dropped. “No underwear again? How do you go to work like that?”

Sheepishly, he admitted, “I didn’t. I took it off right before I left, knowing I’d be coming to get you. I always wear underwear with my suit pants; otherwise it feels like they’re riding up my ass. But I rarely wear it when I’m around the house, or when I’m wearing jeans. I just don’t like it.”

Meanwhile, the pants had been sinking lower and lower. Nearly to his knees, his cock finally freed itself from its confines, leaping up and bouncing a few times before settling, sticking straight out from his body. Moaning, I sank forward to my knees and drew it into my mouth before dragging my lips along the length and letting it release from my mouth with a pop.

“Back on the bed,” Grayson demanded.

Throwing the layers of covers to the foot of the bed, I sank into his mattress. This was going to feel like getting fucked on a giant marshmallow.

His body covered mine, our legs intertwining, our torsos pressed together. Kissing me deeply, his hands found mine, our fingers weaving together. I was perfectly content to let him kiss me for the remainder of our lives, his tongue exploring my mouth for eternity. Freeing one hand, I gripped his back, trying to remain grounded in reality lest I float away. He was so warm. With his hand now empty, he ran it lightly against my side before letting it rest against my hip.

Shifting so his knees supported his weight, he lifted himself so he was no longer lying on top of me. I whimpered at the loss of warmth and practically whined when he broke the kiss. Smiling, he gave me a light peck on the nose. “Normally, I’m all for the foreplay, but I’m in a bit of a rush. I’ve been haunted by this dream ever since that first picture you sent.”

“And I’ve been imagining you penetrating me since the very first time I laid eyes on you. You probably don’t remember, but you went upstairs, showered, then came back downstairs shirtless and dripping wet.”

A chuckle. “No, I really don’t remember. Sorry.” Another kiss. “Let’s finish this conversation later. For now—” He reached over and fumbled in the drawer of the bedside table before holding up a half empty bottle of lube. He squeezed a healthy amount onto his hand. I expected him to slather up his dick, so I jumped in surprise when the cold liquid hit my own. Leaning down, he continued to stroke me while placing kisses along my jaw and neck.

Squirming impatiently, I thrust my hips upward, trying to buck off his hand so his fingers could get to work in other places. Apparently waving my asshole about didn’t convey a clear message. Grayson pulled back and looked at me curiously. “Alex, what are you trying to do?”

“Trying to get you to finger me,” I growled, pouting.

Stunned for only a moment, Grayson laughed. “Next time, just tell me what you want. It was like my own personal rodeo down there for a moment.” Smirking, he paused, his fingers inches from my entrance, before asking, “I’ve never done it before, but how do you feel about rim jobs?”

Incredulously, I asked, “You’ve really never eaten ass before?”

Shaking his head, he said, “No, never really had the inclination to before. So?”

“You can put whatever you want, wherever you want, whenever you want, so long as it happens in the next ten seconds, or so help me.”

“So pushy.”

Grayson was still sitting on his knees, and I was not expecting the finger that was pushed inside me. Moaning, I arched against it, thrusting myself backwards until I was fully impaled on the digit.

“Careful. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“The lube helps,” I panted, sliding myself up and down on his finger. “What happened to eating me out?”

A low chuckle. “I got distracted.”

I smiled. I loved his laugh. “Kiss me.”

Happily complying, his tongue set to work exploring my mouth, his finger purposefully pumping in and out of my body. Unable to help myself, I moaned against his ministrations. His lips moved to my throat, feeling the vibrations. Lips continued to move down my body, tasting, licking, kissing, nipping.

A second finger was inserted as my cock was fully engulfed in wet warmth. My legs were propped against Grayson’s shoulders, and suddenly his tongue replaced his fingers. Thrashing my head back and forth, I dug my fingers into his hair, pinning his head against me. Tongue and fingers alternated, taking turns penetrating me.

The sound of a bottle of lube opening, then three fingers rubbed against my entrance, stroking, sending a shiver racing up my spine. “Is this okay?” Grayson checked.

“I’ll let you know if it’s not,” I promised.

The first finger slipped back in with ease, followed by finger number two. The third finger still hesitated outside. I smiled reassuringly at Grayson. “Really. I will let you know if you hurt me. But right now, I’m going to hurt  _ you _ if you don’t get on with it and stop teasing me.”

He returned the smile sheepishly. “Sorry. You’re right.” Then his mouth was back on my dick, and I was crying out as I was wracked with intense waves of pleasure.

The final finger was finally inserted, and I groaned. The head of my cock hit the back of Grayson’s throat. Then his throat muscles were contracting and loosening, and I was going deeper and deeper—

“Ohhh…” I had to fight against every instinct to pound into his mouth, willing my hips to stay still, letting Grayson work his way all the way to the base. When his nose hit my pelvis, I almost lost it then and there, but then his fingers  _ curled— _

“Shit, I’m—”

The world went white as my orgasm tore through me, and Grayson’s throat worked, swallowing my load. He kept his fingers inside me but let my cock fall from his lips. And then he was kissing me. My hands wrapped around him and pulled him close, unable to get enough of him. His lips moved to my neck, his stubble scratching my tender skin, and then he was back to my mouth. I sucked at his tongue and nipped his bottom lip, nerves still tingling from the intensity of it all.

Fingers moved inside me some more, and I groaned. “Sorry, it takes me about an hour before I can get hard again.”

“Shh.” Grayson’s breath tickled my ear, and his teeth gently tugged my earlobe. “Don’t worry. I’m a very patient man.”

Kisses were worked across my chest and stomach, slowly, Grayson tonguing and tasting every inch. Normally I’m not into nipple play, but I found I didn’t mind when it was Grayson teasing them between his lips and teeth. Finishing my stomach and sides, he continued to kiss down my body, down my right leg, sucking harshly on my inner thigh.

More time had passed than I realized, for I began to rise to the occasion once more. Having forgotten about his fingers, they began to move in and out once more, poised in place to brush against my prostate, and I rolled my hips in time with his thrusts.

When the fingers were removed, I keened, until I realized Grayson was positioning himself. Lining himself up, he began to press forward. I drew my legs further open, giving him complete access. His eyes clouded with lust as he watched himself slowly disappear deep within me.

Fuck, he was big. I knew that going in, but where dildos and past lovers would have been fully immersed by now, he  _ kept going.  _ At least he wasn’t monstrously thick. Otherwise there was no way I’d be able to accommodate him in his entirety. Imagine lusting after someone for four-and-a-half years, only to discover you couldn’t take them in your ass. What a tragedy that would be.

Luckily, I wasn’t having that problem.

Heat spread through me, and I struggled to catch my breath. I wrapped my legs around his hips, overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside me. Once he was finally completely sheathed, he paused, taking the time to kiss me deeply.

“How are you doing?”

Reaching between us, my fingers caught up some of the pre-cum leaking from my tip, and I wiped it across his chest. Definitely not the most romantic gesture, but all words had escaped me. Chest heaving, I shifted against him, encouraging him to continue.

I could feel the vibrations from his deep chuckle tickle my lower stomach where our flesh pressed together. He slowly drew himself partially out, and I gasped, eyes snapping shut. I gripped his arms, panting as he continued his shallow thrusts.

“Alex.”

At the sound of my name, my eyes snapped open, and I was immediately lost in the sight before me. He gazed down at me, blue eyes intently glued to my face, radiating lust and want. His lips were slightly parted, sweat already beading in his hair.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he sighed.

Reaching up, I rested my hand against his cheek. “I love you.”

“It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

“What is?”

“Loving you.”

Fire raced through my body where his lips touched mine. My heart thundered with such intensity that I was sure it would explode from my body. I had never felt so connected to another human being before. When he started to pick up the pace, I called out, the sounds partway between a moan and a scream.

He kept his thrusts shallow, but deep, hammering his hips against my ass with a slapping sound. Pushing up onto his hands, he adjusted the angle, trying to find that one spot, but it eluded him. After a few minutes of still not finding it, he asked, “Switch positions?”

Biting my lower lip shyly, I admitted, “No, I want to look at you.”

His smile lit up his entire face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re adorable. Hold on, I have an idea.”

He slid off me and spent a few minutes arranging pillows against his headboard before sitting back against them at an angle. Patting his thighs, he said, “Come here.”

Positioning my legs on either side of his and angling his dick towards my body, I lowered myself onto him. After a couple botched tries, I was finally sinking down along his length. Shifting to my knees, I leaned back and placed my hands on his thighs. Gravity worked in my favor as I bounced up and down, easily finding a comfortable pace and rhythm. My cock slapped against my stomach, and I took a hold of it, simply to keep it from bouncing so erratically. Grayson’s hands ran lightly along my sides before gripping them and assisting me to slide up and down.

Slumping forward, I balanced myself on my forearms, using the new position to kiss Grayson heatedly. One thrust, two thrusts, and—

“Ahh!”

Frantically, I picked up the pace, the new position causing Grayson to brush my prostate with every thrust. Understanding exactly what happened, Grayson drove his hips up against me, using the grip he had on my sides to slam me down with renewed force. His breathing hitched, his eyes clenched shut, signs that he was getting close to orgasm.

His hands stilled, and he slowed his relentless pounding. “Hold on, I don’t want to cum yet. I want to savor every second of this. Here, lie on your back again.”

Rolling onto my back, Grayson reinserted himself but didn’t start fucking. Instead, he went back to kissing me, leisurely and wetly.

“I can’t get enough of how you taste,” he rasped.

“I noticed,” I replied, running my hands up and down his sides, fingernails scratching him lightly. “I can’t get enough of how you  _ feel _ .”

He began moving again, agonizingly slow. I just wanted him to pound into me as hard as he could, but I had to admit that slow had its advantages, too. Arching up off the bed, I pushed myself towards him, desperate to get as physically close as possible.

Long, deep thrusting continued. I could feel tears welling at the corners of my eyes, yet I had no clue what they were doing there. Breaths ragged, cheeks flushed, heart pounding, electricity soared through my body. I felt pulled between two planes of nearing overstimulation and never wanting this to end.

Red raced across Grayson’s chest, and veins stood out against his neck. Dropping his forehead to mine, I could feel our sweat pooling against our skin. Once more, Grayson stilled to a halt, panting harshly in my ear.

“I’ve just about reached my limit,” he rasped. He slid his hands up my arms and pressed his chest to mine, holding me tightly. Lips desperately locked to mine as Grayson rutted frantically inside me, coming with a gasp deep inside me.

Several deep breaths later, Grayson slowly pulled out, then continued moving further down my body, placing heated, wet kisses along the way. Once more taking my cock in his mouth, he pushed all the way forward until my head was bumping against the back of his throat. Using his hand, he worked my shaft while bobbing his head up and down. It only took a few swipes of that tongue across my sensitive skin before I jerked hard against his mouth, cumming down his throat. My hands gripped his shoulders as I moaned and writhed through orgasm.

Panting heavily, I collapsed against the mattress, barely cognizant of how high I had arched off the bed while Grayson had me in his mouth. Equally breathless, Grayson collapsed next to me, legs tangling with mine as he flopped onto his back.

Pouting, I complained, “I want to hold you, but it’s too fucking hot.” Sweat and other fluids were pooling uncomfortably in many a crevasse, but I was too bone tired to drag myself into the bathroom for a shower.

A hand found mine, and our fingers entwined.

“At the risk of sounding like a moron, I’ve literally had dreams of fucking you,” I confessed.

Grayson turned his piercing blue gaze in my direction, and I found myself shivering despite the heat. “I know you have. You were always uncomfortably obvious in your attraction. If it weren’t for the fact that you are  _ literally the same age as my son _ , I would have jumped you ages ago.”

I flushed. “Uncomfortably obvious?” I queried.

“You were sixteen and practically drooling over me. I wasn’t about to go to jail for statutory rape.” He rolled closer and brushed his hand down my stomach. “What made it even more challenging was the fact that you didn't  _ look  _ sixteen.”

I recalled a few times where Grayson had highballed my age by at least a few years. “In South Carolina, the legal age of consent is sixteen.”

“I'm not even remotely surprised you know that. However, there’s legality...and there’s ethics. When you get to be my age, you’ll understand that it would have been akin to fucking a child.”

I drew back, my stomach twisting unpleasantly. This conversation was rushing headlong into Nightmare City. “And do you still feel that way?”

Grayson frowned. “Alex. Let me make something  _ very _ clear. Yes, I’ve known you’ve been attracted to me since you were in high school, but wanting to sleep with someone and wanting to  _ be with  _ someone are two vastly different states of mind. When I watched you stare at me and drool at the gym, I was flattered, but really thought nothing more about it. Your physical attraction to me was no different from getting ogled by random strangers on the street. Starting a relationship was the absolute furthest thing from my mind.”

“So what changed?”

A genuine smile curled against his lips, lighting his face like a gentle sunrise. He pulled me gently into his chest and pressed feather light kisses into my hair. “The absolute worst night of my life was when I fell in love with you.”

“What the  _ fuck _ ?” I shoved at his chest, pushing him as far from me as possible. Who  _ says  _ that to someone?!

Grayson blinked wildly in surprise, brow wrinkled in confusion. Slowly his face softened, and he began laughing, clutching his stomach as his laughter shook his body. “Oh, that sounded  _ terrible _ ! I did  _ not— _ ”

I watched, markedly unamused, as Grayson struggled to catch his breath. I thought about punching him but hesitated, weighing the pros against a possible assault charge.

Something in the glare I sent his way had him quickly sobered, and he rushed to explain. “What I  _ meant  _ by ‘the worst night of my life…’ That was the night that I found out Braydem wasn’t really my son. The night we went out to dinner with your parents, Braden, and my ex-whore-of-a-wife...that night was the night I fell in love with you.  _ That’s  _ what I meant. On the worst night of my life...I fell in love with you.”

Anger still swam through my veins. The way he said it, it still sounded like falling in love with me was the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

Grayson tried to draw me close to him once more, but I resisted. Instead of forcing the issue, he simply traced light lines with his forefinger across my arm and chest. It tickled, and I forced myself to keep from shivering.

“Lucy, you still have some ’splaining to do.”

“Alex, after finding out that my  _ son _ ...I can’t put into words how dark a place I went that night. I’ve told you that it takes me a long time to process things. I tend to internalize my problems and keep them in a tight ball in my chest, ruminating on them in tighter and tighter circles until I’ve about driven myself crazy.

“You...stayed with me. Through all that. Again, my thoughts were in very dark places, second guessing every minute I had spent raising my little boy. I hope you never have such a horrible bomb dropped on you for as long as you live. I remember very vividly lashing out at you, trying to hurt you as deeply as I was hurting. But you...stayed with me, without a second’s hesitation. And what I saw in you that night was no longer some kid who I happened to see from time to time...but someone who  _ cared  _ about  _ me _ . You so forcefully put my emotions above your own pride, and I realized that…”

Tears had formed in Grayson’s eyes, and he was choking on his next words, unable to spit them out. Startled, I pulled him into my arms, clutching him to my chest, placing tender kisses to his temple. I stroked his hair, my fingers catching where it was still damp with sweat.

Eyes red and wet, Grayson blinked blearily up at me. “ _ This _ ,” he hissed. “I realized I’ve never had  _ this  _ before. Never before in my life have I had someone care for me so deeply and unconditionally and it’s...well, let’s be honest. It’s  _ sad _ , really.”

Another gentle kiss on his forehead. I didn’t know how to respond. True, I knew he had been trapped in a loveless marriage, but never could I have imagined growing up without knowing an unselfish relationship. I thought back to our conversation earlier in the car and how he had deftly steered the conversation away from his parents. Had his own parents not even formed an emotional relationship with their son?

I made a mental note to buy my mom an extra gift for Christmas this year. I was astoundingly lucky to have an actual saint for a mother, someone who never shied from showering me with love and affection, especially when I was feeling undeserving of it.

Gripping Grayson by the chin, I tilted his face up to meet mine. “If there’s anything I have in excess, it’s love for you, and I have no problem with sharing.”

He smiled and kissed me. “I know.”

* * *

I must have drifted off to sleep at some point, arms wrapped tightly around Grayson. I awoke some time around three in the morning with an intense urge to pee. After relieving myself in the master bathroom, I made my way back to the bedroom and froze. The light from the moon shone gently across Grayson’s still naked form, bathing him in silvery light. Once more I was struck by the feeling that this had all been an intense dream, that at any moment, I’d wake up and find myself all alone.

Grayson stirred and yawned. Slowly his eyes drifted open, and he patted the empty bed next to him confusedly. Blearily, his gaze finally settled on me, and he smiled, holding his arms out to me. My heart soared, filled with such deep passion for the man before me, and I slid back into bed, snuggling into his arms. Pulling the blankets back around us, we settled against each other, bodies fitting easily against one another, legs and arms entwined.

Soft kisses were placed gently against my neck, and I shivered pleasantly. Broad hands caressed my sides, chest, and stomach, and I could feel my cock hardening. Grayson’s own length was hardening eagerly, bumping against the back of my thigh. He ground himself against my ass, then let his hand slip downwards until it was encircling me, stroking up and down. More kisses to my neck and shoulders, and I sighed contentedly, feeling all was right in the world.

Pressing myself backwards, I tried to communicate my desire to feel him inside me again. Two fingers swiped against my hole before disappearing to guide Grayson back to my entrance. Pushing gently, it took relatively little effort before he was sliding into me once more. Angling his hips, he slowly thrust in and out, his right hand on my hip holding me in the position he wanted me in. His left arm snaked under the pillows, supporting my head and neck, and he pressed his chest to my back, holding me as he continued to pump himself in and out of me.

Pleasure shot through my veins, and I pressed backwards, meeting his thrusts. Warmth spread through my body, a growing bonfire deep within me. Panting, I moaned his name.

Fingers stilled against my hip for a lengthy moment before Grayson shoved unceremoniously inside me, slamming his hips against my backside with a groan. “Fuck,” he hissed, and lips sucked harshly against my skin. “Hearing you moan my name...fuck.”

Grinning devilishly, I pulled myself off him before turning around to face him. Pushing gently on his shoulder, I got him to lay on his back so I could straddle his hips. Holding his length, I guided myself onto him, sinking deeply with a wanton moan.

Grayson reached up to touch me, but I took his two hands in mine and pressed against them to help keep my balance as I began to ride him. Tossing my head back, I rolled my hips several times before flexing my thighs and lifting myself up and down.

God, it felt  _ so good _ .

The fullness stretched me, and I keened, craving the thick heat pounding in and out of me. Grayson let go of one hand to fist my cock in time to my thrusts. Waves of intense heat crashed against me, and Grayson’s name once more slipped through my lips.

With a growl, Grayson gripped my hips and slammed up into me. My tongue lolled as I panted, and I arched back, loving the sound of skin slapping against skin. Feeling him inside me had me feeling wrecked, undone. Leaning forward, I fiercely took his lips in mine. Pressing my tongue into his mouth, I rubbed it against his own before pulling back and sucking harshly against his bottom lip. Sitting back up, I pushed downward against his erratic thrusts.

Eyes glazed, pupils blown, Grayson met my gaze. Behind those eyes roared an immense forge, passion at an intense level of heat. I felt fire jump from his gaze to my chest, and I was at once overwhelmed in the flames. Once more my hips rolled, and Grayson released my cock in order to grip my hips, assisting me in riding up and down.

“You feel  _ fantastic, _ ” Grayson growled. His deep voice went straight to my groin, and I took myself in hand. Developing a new rhythm, I bucked up into my hand, then pressed back downward, impaling myself as deeply as I could.

He continued speaking in that low, throaty purr, lavishing me with praise. “I love the way you look on top of me, riding me. It’s like you were  _ made  _ to ride me. Just look at you.” His hands running over my body brought an urgent whine from my lips, and my rhythm broke into a demanding rut. A hand gently removed my own hand from my own dick, and I whimpered. A rough chuckle. “What a perfect cock you have. And just look at it weeping for me.”

My whole life, I had never had a problem with finding words—maybe not the  _ right  _ words, but they had always effortlessly spilled from my mouth. Grayson had left me literally tongue tied, nothing more than gasps and whimpers escaping the confines of my lips.

“If only there was a way for me to fuck you and suck you off at the same time.”

I collapsed forward, panting, frantically pushing our lips together.

A swipe of the tongue and a gentle nip at my lip, and I was melting. I barely even noticed that I had stopped thrusting, simply curling into Grayson, his arms wrapping tightly around me like I was going to disappear.

Lips moved to my neck, and teeth gently nipped my earlobe. “You liked me talking to you, huh?”

A shiver raced down my spine, and I nodded. “I love your voice,” I admitted.

Keeping his arms wrapped around me, Grayson nudged me until I rolled off him and we were laying on our sides facing one another. He pulled me flush against him and kissed me deeply. Fingers threaded through my hair and massaged my scalp, and I arched into his touch, enjoying it more than I thought I would. Reaching behind him, Grayson grabbed the lube from the bedside table. The sound of a plastic cap, and I could feel him reaching between us to slick himself up.

Rolling me gently onto my back, Grayson positioned himself at my entrance, and I spread my legs invitingly. Feeling him glide into me had me moaning and arching into him. Bracing my feet against the mattress, I pushed my hips up to meet his thrusts, demanding a fast pace, aching to have him fuck me fast and hard.

Jolts of pleasure sparked deep within me as he hit my prostate, and I was once more gasping and keening.

“Alex,” Grayson moaned, and I almost came just from hearing my name on his lips.

Biceps bulged as Grayson supported his weight on his arms, hands gripping the sheets on either side of my head. Unable to resist, I ran my hands lightly up and down his arms, loving the feel of how tight and hard they were. Fingers mapped every ridge and valley, memorizing every detail.

“Alex,” Grayson groaned again, and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. “That look…” He cracked one eye open and stared down at me. His hair products had long since lost their hold, and dark locks brushed across his forehead. “That look in your eyes… You really do wear every emotion plain as day on your face. The way you look at me...I could never doubt how you feel about me because your eyes say it all.”

Grinning sheepishly, I resisted the urge to cover my face, to hide from his uncovering gaze. “I can’t help it. You're fucking irresistible.”

Gentle kisses were placed across my jaw, and I nuzzled my face against his, loving the scratchy feel of his stubble against my smooth face. Leaning forward, I licked and sucked at his collar bone. Surprising me, he moaned and leaned into my open-mouthed kisses. “Keep doing that,” he demanded, and I happily complied.

Arms trembled, and hips persistently picked up pace. Pleasure buzzed through my body, and I met Grayson’s thrusts eagerly. Completion bubbled just beneath the surface, and suddenly unable to keep it back anymore, I gripped myself, getting in only a few strokes before orgasm ripped through me.

“Shit,” Grayson hissed as I came, kissing me fiercely. He pulled out and sat up, gazing luridly down at my cum-streaked body. “What a beautiful sight you are,” he growled. Pumping his cock slowly, his eyes continued to rove across my body. I could just imagine how I must look, draped in silver moonlight, and for a moment I wished he would take a picture.

Grayson continued to jack off, and I watched from underneath him, egotistically aroused from the way he stared down at me. Reaching down, he slid two fingers across my stomach, slicking them through cum, before continuing to fist himself. A deep moan tore through my chest as I watched him use my cum as lube, the visual turning me on more than I would have expected. If I hadn't just orgasmed, I probably would have shot my load just from that.

I tucked the experience away for future masturbation fodder.

Reaching towards me once more, he caught my hand in his and guided it to his cock. I eagerly stroked him, unable to help but marvel once more in its great length. My cum helped guide my hand against his hot skin, and I shuddered, my thumb teasing his head and slit. Grunting, Grayson thrust into my hand, rutting against me.

“How do you manage with that thing?”

Grayson had closed his eyes in pleasure, mouth gently open, head tossed back. “Hmm?” he hummed, barely acknowledging that he heard me. “What do you mean?”

My left hand joined its brother in stroking that great length. Fucking A, both hands, and there was still plenty of room to spare. “Like, doesn’t it get stuck in things?”

Cracking open one eye, he peered down at me curiously. “No more than anyone else’s, I wouldn’t think. Why?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Both eyes were open now as he peered down at me, and he had stopped thrusting into my hands. “I don’t understand. What are you insinuating?”

“I’m saying you have a massive cock. It’s like a lethal weapon. Do you need a permit to bring it to an airport? Does it have its own driver’s license? How do you find pants and underwear that fit?”

I paused to take a breath, running out of steam, and he interrupted me. “Are you saying it’s too big for you?”

Panicked, I resumed stroking him, worried he might take it away from me. “Oh, no, I absolutely didn’t say that!”

His eyes slid shut once more, and he continued his shallow thrusts into my hands. “I’d ask if you’re always this chatty post orgasm, but I already know that it’s an all the time thing.”

I nodded. “It’s true. I really don’t ever shut up.”

Smiling, he bent towards me and kissed my forehead. “You weren’t very talkative earlier when I was fucking you. So now I know a good way to get you to shut up if I need to.” Another kiss, and he added cheekily, “Though, to be fair, you weren’t exactly silent.”

“So no fucking me in the library.”

“I think that’s good advice.”

Grayson nudged my shoulders. “Lay back down,” he commanded. When I did, he went back to stroking himself. Sitting up on his knees, his eyes wandered up and down my body, taking me in. “I really do have feelings for you,” he noted. “I admit my feelings came on a lot slower for you than yours did for me, but I love you all the same.”

A flush darkened my cheeks, and I squirmed delightedly beneath him. “To be fair, I fell madly, deeply in love with you the first second I laid eyes on you. There’s really no contest.”

His hips bucked forward with renewed urgency, and he broke off conversation, short gasps spilling from his lips. His hand picked up speed, and he arched forward, his left hand coming to rest on my side. I simply sat back and enjoyed the wondrous view before me.

With a choked moan, he came, his seed splashing my stomach and mixing with my own. I bit my bottom lip in an unsuccessful attempt to hold back a loud groan. Finally spent, Grayson collapsed on the bed beside me, placing tender kisses at my temple.

“Be right back. Let me get you something to clean yourself up with.” Grayson rolled out of bed, and I pined for him, immediately missing the heat of his body pressed against mine. He was gone longer than I expected, but when he returned, he was carrying a damp towel and two water bottles. I took the towel and cleaned myself up as best I could. He took the towel from me and tossed it into the hamper before crawling back in bed.

Grayson opened his water bottle and drank deeply from it, his Adam’s apple bobbing rhythmically with each swallow. Watching him drink, I was suddenly unpleasantly aware of my own thirst and helped myself to the second water bottle.

A smile was thrown my way as Grayson admitted, “It’s dangerous having you here. There’s not a second that passes that I don’t want to have my hands on you.”

Smirking, I replied, “I don’t see how that’s a problem.”

“The only problem is that neither of us will be getting a full night’s sleep while you’re here.”

Pulling the covers up to my shoulders, I once more snuggled into Grayson’s awaiting arms. “I don’t mind.”

A light chuckle tickled the hair at the back of my neck. “As I said—you’re dangerously insatiable.”

Yawning, drowsiness hit me. Between Grayson’s arms enveloping me and the soft padding of the mattress, I was sound asleep before I knew it.

* * *

I woke up before Grayson the following morning and decided to let him sleep. My stomach growled, and I thought about breakfast. Remembering the empty tragedy that was his fridge, I cringed, wishing I had my bike to go to the grocery store. Normally I wasn’t much of a cook, but I could do my best when the need arose. Plus, I had done fairly well with those cinnamon rolls—

Fuck! The cinnamon rolls!

I had planned to bring them with me to Grayson’s. Now where were they? Left on the kitchen island, most likely having already fallen victim to my father’s growling stomach.

Damn it.

To be fair, I hadn’t spent much time packing, anyway, my brain more focused on the copious amounts of sex I was planning on having than on what I should bring with me. In fact, I distinctly remember trying to walk out the door empty handed before Grayson stopped me. My tongue licked unpleasantly at the inside of my mouth, and I realized I couldn’t remember if I had packed my toothbrush or not. Where was my bag, anyway? Let’s see… I had walked into the house, and by the time I reached the top of the stairs, I was almost completely naked. 

Rolling out of bed, I headed towards the kitchen, gathering up my scattered clothes as I went. I found my duffel bag right inside the garage door, and I peeked inside it curiously, taking inventory of my hastily packed belongings. Underwear, toothbrush, deodorant…I had also packed three shirts but no pants. Also, no toothpaste or socks. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I headed back upstairs.

Grayson opened his eyes as I walked back into the room. He yawned and stretched. “Good morning,” he greeted.

“Sleep well?” I smirked knowingly.

“Never slept better,” he replied.

Fishing my toothbrush out of my bag, I motioned to the bathroom. “Mind if I borrow your toothpaste? I seem to have forgotten mine.”

“Sure.”

His eyes drifted back towards the bathroom, and he chewed his thumbnail nervously. My gut wrenched. I knew that look. That was his “I’m thinking about something but I’m going to keep it bottled up” look. If I was going to make this relationship work, I was going to break that look.

Placing my hands on my hips, I stood between his look and the bathroom. “What is it?” I demanded. Being naked probably didn’t help the insistent tone I was trying to set, but it would have to do.

Another bite on his thumbnail before he would look at me. “I was trying to think of a way to suggest you just…keep your toothbrush here,” he admitted sheepishly.

Fuck, this man was going to be the death of me.

“I’d kiss you, but I have foul morning breath.”

“Then I’ll just remember that you owe me one.”

Retreating to the bathroom, I set about my morning routine. I had very fine hair all over my body, so I wasn’t worried about needing to shave. I was distantly aware of Grayson moving about the bathroom as well, performing his own ablutions. Raising my arm, intending to apply deodorant, I grimaced, sex stench permeating the air.

“I need to shower,” I announced.

Arms wrapped around me from behind. “Mind if I join you?”

Giggling, I said, “You called  _ me  _ insatiable. What about you?”

Teeth teased my earlobe. “To be fair, I never said I  _ wasn’t _ .”

“True.”

Hot water poured from the showerhead, and I stepped inside, pulling Grayson in after me. Really needing to shower, I closed my eyes, hoping that by doing so, I’d be able to restrain myself for the five minutes it would take to shampoo and soap up. However, it wasn’t long before my traitorous hands were reaching blindly forward, running themselves up and down Grayson’s body. He pulled me to him, and I slid my leg between his, nudging it forward against his hardening erection. Lips pressed to mine, and I kissed back eagerly, keeping my eyes closed against the stream of water pouring down. Soap exchanged hands, and we took turns lathering each other up.

After rinsing off, Grayson shut off the water, but I wasn’t ready to leave the shower yet. Pushing gently against him, mindful of the slippery bottom, I pressed him back against the shower wall before dropping to my knees. He was only half-hard, yet he was already larger than almost every other guy I had been with.

Lips parted, I leaned forward and took as much of him into my mouth as I could. Grayson exhaled as I did so, fingers running tenderly through my wet hair. I pulled back until I reached the head, tongue running over as much skin as it could get to, before I pushed back down. Inhaling deeply, he smelled like soap and musk. Bobbing up and down, I worked to take more and more of him into my mouth with each oscillation. The hand on my head followed my movements, not quite pushing me further down but not letting me up, either.

I had only successfully deep-throated twice in my life, and today seemed like a good day to try again. Slowing down, I took long breaths through my nose, willing my throat to relax. My hands grasped Grayson’s hips, guiding him at the pace I needed him to go. He slipped further down, and I resisted the impulse to choke or cough. I held him there, adjusting to the feeling, before pulling back and trying again.

After a dozen times, my mouth was over three-quarters of the way down his cock. Still not fully able to engulf him, but also quite a lot of meat to fit in my mouth. Saliva poured thickly from the corners of my mouth. Grayson’s hand still gripped the back of my head, guiding me up and down.

My knees and jaw began to ache, but I didn’t want to stop. My own cock was hard and weeping, and I gripped myself, stroking myself to the same rhythm as my mouth. Gazing up, I watched Grayson’s reaction to my hungry mouth, causing my heart to flutter erratically. His blue eyes peered down at me, and he smiled.

“How perfect you look right now.”

His other hand cupped the side of my face, and I nuzzled into its warmth, perfectly content in that moment. Working my throat, I picked up the pace, loving the new sounds I was eliciting from the man above me.

Suddenly, I needed to breathe. I pulled off him, panting, saliva spilling from my lips, my hand furiously fisting my cock. I came with a deep groan, resting my forehead against Grayson’s thigh.

“Oh, shit,” Grayson hissed, taking himself in hand and pumping frantically.

I stuck my tongue out flat from my mouth and laid it against the bottom of Grayson’s head, still gasping for air. With a short cry, Grayson came, the salty fluid landing on my tongue. When he was spent, I swallowed the mouthful, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

Pulling me up from the bottom of the tub, Grayson drew back the shower curtain to grab two fluffy blue towels. Wrapping me up, he helped me step over the side of the tub.

My stomach growled loudly, and I realized that I hadn’t eaten dinner the night before. “Breakfast,” I demanded, holding my stomach.

“What do you want to eat?” Grayson asked.

“Omelettes. With scallions and ham.”

Grayson looked at me uncomfortably. “I don’t have—”

“I know. We’ll have to go to the grocery store.”


	10. Chapter 10

We had returned from the grocery store, and Grayson was putting things away in the fridge while I started working on the omelettes. I whisked five eggs in a bowl before starting to finely chop the scallions and cube the ham. After finishing with the other groceries, Grayson poured both of us a glass of orange juice and watched curiously as I rooted around in his cupboards.

“Would I be too hopeful for you to have a cast-iron skillet?” I asked.

“Not at all,” he said. “It’s in the garage. I’ll go get it.”

While I waited, I pulled out some of the other utensils I would need. Despite never cooking, he had quite an expensive set of knives and cookware. When he returned with the skillet, I took it from him and asked, “If you never cook, why do you have such expensive kitchenware?” I spied a top of the line stand mixer tucked behind his pots and pans, and my jaw dropped. My mom would have  _ killed _ to have that KitchenAid model.

Grayson peered into the cabinets, wondering what I was talking about. “Oh. I don’t know. I’ve kind of collected things, I guess. When I first got divorced, I had a lot of married friends buy me a lot of stuff, and I felt too guilty to tell them I don’t cook.”

“That’s another thing. How is it that you stay in such great shape yet you never cook your own meals? When I eat out more than twice a week, I feel like absolute garbage.”

Grayson shrugged. “You kind of figure out where the best places to eat are, with quality ingredients. And I get a lot of prepackaged or bagged meals from the store. Also, I drink a lot of protein shakes.”

When the skillet was sufficiently warmed, I started cooking the ham, adding the white bottoms of the scallions for the last two minutes.

“I was thinking…after breakfast, we should call Brayden and tell him about us.”

My breath hitched, and I glanced at Grayson out of the corner of my eye. He was sitting on the bar stool at the island, sipping his orange juice, and watching me closely.

“I thought you wanted to have that conversation in person,” I answered.

A small shrug. “I think sooner is better. Plus, I want to ask him how his engagement went. I’m surprised he hasn’t called or texted yet. Hopefully that means it went well.”

Hmm. I actually hadn’t heard anything from Brayden, either—about  _ any  _ part of the engagement—and I wondered if that meant we had grown apart as friends. I had fallen completely out of contact with all of my other friends from high school, even the ones that had gone to Wake Forest as well, so why would Brayden be any different?

Yet it still hurt, the one who I had called “best friend” not even telling me he was proposing to his girlfriend. But on the other hand…how much had I kept from him?

Whisking the eggs, I added milk, cheese, the green tops of scallions, salt, and pepper before pouring the mixture onto the ham and white scallion bottoms. After another couple minutes, breakfast was served.

“This is fucking delicious,” Grayson said around moutfuls of omelette.

“The best part about omelettes is that they’re really not that hard to make. They’re like a fancy version of scrambled eggs.”

Halfway through breakfast, Grayson’s phone started ringing. He still had the default ringtone set, and I gaped. Even my parents knew how to change their ringtones. How technologically deficient could one person possibly be?

“Brayden,” Grayson informed me after glancing at the screen. “Let me hear about his engagement first, then I’ll tell him.”

He didn’t leave the room to answer the call, but I still felt like I was intruding. Suddenly things were very different from all the times I had spent with Brayden and Mr. Hartman. I think a large part of it had to do with the new house. This was not a space I had spent time with Brayden in. In fact, it wasn’t until Grayson moved into this house that we had changed our relationship from “son’s friend and son’s dad” to “two friends”…and then to “two boyfriends.”

I think the other part of it was having his dick in my mouth and ass. That definitely changes how you view a relationship with someone.

I could hear Brayden say, “Yell-Oh!” from where I sat, and I watched Grayson smile.

“Brayden! Tell me! How did it go?”

Muffled voices on the other end, then a girl’s voice on the line. I assumed that was Melissa. It would be too bold of Brayden to visit a secret girlfriend the same weekend he proposed. Excited squeals had Grayson pulling the phone from his ear, but he was still smiling.

“Congratulations. I’m so happy for you two! Have you talked to your mom yet?” More noises from the other end, met with noncommittal “uh-huh’s” from Grayson. “I wish I could be there, too. You’ll be so happy together. Hey, while I’ve got you on the phone, there’s something I want to tell you.”

A sudden wrench in my gut had me suddenly wondering if this was the best time. Brayden’s memory of his engagement would forever be colored by this next part.

But so what? Brayden should be happy for his dad.

Right?

“I’m in a relationship with someone. It’s only been a few days, but I wanted to tell you.” Sounds from Brayden’s end, and I realized I was nervous. “Actually, yeah, he’s right here. He’s—”

The silence hit me harder than the terse response from Brayden’s end. Grayson’s jaw hardened the longer Brayden spoke.

When he cut his son off, Grayson was irritated. “No, I know I’ve told you that I’m gay. And part of being gay means that I don’t date women.”

Huh. Brayden had accepted me being gay unconditionally. Never once had he reacted negatively, though I suppose it only very rarely came up in conversation. I guess it was different when it was your own father.

“No, I know your mother says—”

Uh oh. This was not going in the direction I thought it would.

“I’m sorry you thought I would get married again, but I really don’t know how to tell you any other way that I’m gay. I’ve  _ always _ been gay. No, I’m not—” He took a few deep breaths. “Brayden, let’s put all that to the side for a minute. I’m trying to tell you that I’m in a relationship. With someone you know.”

More silence, then—

“No, I want you to calm down first.”

A few minutes passed before Grayson deemed his son ready to talk again. “Brayden, I know this might be challenging for you to digest, but I want you to try. I started dating your friend Alex.”

I could hear very clearly from the other end of the phone Brayden demand, “Put Alex on the phone.”

Grayson held his phone out to me and I took it as timidly as if it were a bomb about to explode. “Yell-Oh,” I greeted.

“You fucking  _ liar _ ,” Brayden hissed. “I  _ asked you _ , point blank, what was going on between you and my father, and you said ‘ _ nothing _ .’ You  _ liar _ !”

“Well, technically, at the time that you asked, there really wasn’t anything between us. This is a fairly new development.”

A sharp laugh, like cactus spines. “Yeah, right. Dad wouldn’t jump into a relationship with you overnight.  _ Something  _ had been going on. And you’re at his  _ house _ ? What the  _ fuck _ ? Why are you even there?”

Part of me seriously considered describing each of our dalliances in sordid detail, but I bit my tongue to hold myself back. Brayden was a bit overwhelmed by this news, and who wouldn’t be? If I learned that my dad was dating someone my age, especially a close friend, I would probably react in a similar fashion.

Though my dad wasn’t a divorced homosexual who had been forced to stay in a heterosexual partnership for over a decade out of obligation to his only son…but I digress.

“It’s true that until recently, there was nothing between your dad and me…but I’ve been in love with him since I was sixteen years old. That’s why I joined the gym with you and ran those mini-marathons with him.”

“Oh, my God… You can't…” A few moments of silence, and I let Brayden take it. “I think I always knew that”—he cleared his throat several times before continuing—“that there was  _ something _ , but…maybe I just didn't want there to be, so I pretended not to see… But this is my  _ dad _ , Alex. You just don’t date your friends’ dads!”

Part of me considered questioning the depth of our friendship. We had barely spoken in the past year…really not since he found out that Grayson wasn’t his real father. I resisted the impulse of throwing that in his face, too.

“It’s really not up for discussion, so…congratulations on your engagement. I hope you two are very happy together.”

I handed the phone back to Grayson. I’d like to say that I then behaved like a mature adult, but I didn’t. I left the kitchen, went upstairs, and crawled into the bed.

Under the covers, my stomach continued to churn. The omelette that had tasted so good moments ago was now unpleasantly making itself aware. Grayson respected his son too much for me to think Brayden’s reaction wouldn’t affect our newly-formed relationship. Hadn’t Grayson been the one so adamantly resisting our dating barely three days ago? Didn’t he say this wouldn’t work out and it wasn’t a good idea?

So then what was last night, when he held me in his arms and told me how easy it was to love me? How much weight did that carry?

I don’t know how long I lay there, buried under the covers, but it was long enough to develop a dull, throbbing headache from my own cyclical, cynical thoughts. A broad hand laid gently on my shoulders, and a warm voice said, “I brought you some tea. I’m here to talk when you’re ready.”

I pulled the blankets down just far enough to uncover my eyes and survey the situation. Grayson held a steaming mug of hot tea in his hands, and he was blowing gently against the surface.

Slowly I sat up before carefully taking the tea from him. “Thank you,” I said, cautiously drinking a slow sip of tea, then placing the mug on the nightstand. Sighing I rested my head in my hands. “Sorry I bolted,” I murmured between my interlaced fingers. “It all became too much, too fast.”

Grayson sighed, and I winced reflexively. He rested his hand on top of my head, and I found I liked the feel of the weight of it. “Honestly, I had a feeling he wouldn’t take it well, but I didn’t think he’d react  _ that  _ negatively. And if I knew he would upset you so much, I would have never handed you the phone.”

“What else did he say?” I pressed, dreading the answer.

Another deep sigh. His fingers ruffled my hair tenderly, and I leaned into his touch. “Oh, the usual. This is not a new conversation we're having. Ever since the divorce, he’s lectured me about anything and everything. He’s just parroting what his mom says to him about me.”

“So you’re not going to break up with me?”

Grayson froze, still as a statue. His jaw clenched and unclenched, just as my stomach did. After a few moments he forced himself to relax. Turning to me, he gathered me in his arms and placed tender kisses on my forehead. “No, I’m not going to break up with you. I’m really sorry you thought I might do that, but I think after all we’ve been through, you’re rather stuck with me.” He leaned back, eyes roving my face, easily reading every emotion I laid out plainly on my face. “There’s something else. What is it?”

I suddenly found myself short of breath. Sucking in air, I tried to calm my racing heart. Was this a panic attack? Dark spots swam before my eyes, and I ducked my head to my knees, blocking out the suddenly too bright light.

Strong arms squeezed me tighter. “Breathe, Alex.” A soothing voice tickled my ear. “Breathe in and out. Deep breaths.”

My breathing slowly evened out, and I choked, holding back a sob.

“Talk to me, Alex. What is it?”

Pressing my face to his chest, my breathing ragged, I wailed, “It’s just hard for me to wrap my head around. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, so I’m terrified everything will fall apart. You were the one begrudgingly willing to start a relationship, and now, with Brayden—I can’t help but to think when this weekend is over, you’ll…say to forget this ever happened.”

Long strokes up and down my back, broad hands soothing the muscles. “Give me a moment to gather my thoughts,” he whispered calmly. Hands continued to rub by back, moving to my arms and legs, caressing me. When he finally responded, his voice was just as soft and gentle. “You’re right that I was hesitant to begin a relationship with you. You already know all my trepidations, and it won’t do us any good to revisit any of those. But there’s something about you, Alex, that…it’s hard to put into words… When I’m with you, it feels like I’ve been waiting for something for a very long time, that things were never quite right. Granted, I didn’t start seeing you in a romantic way until this past year, and I know it was longer for you, but…being with you is like feeling complete in a way I never knew I wasn’t.”

I sniffled. Holy shit, he really felt that way? I don’t think anyone had ever felt that way about me before. Cheekily, I smirked, “Tell me more.”

A slow smile spread across his lips. His hands began moving slower, pausing to ghost across my nipples or sneak towards my inner thigh. My body was starting to warm up, and I could feel my cheeks flush from the attention. “What drew me to you was how deeply invested you are in others. Even when I babble about mundane shit, like work, you have such a startling intensity in your eye that it’s like having the sun turn its full attention on you.” Thumbs hooked into the waistband of my pants and tugged my hips closer. “You feel things so deeply and genuinely that when I look at you, it’s hard to breathe. I feel surrounded by you, like being in a pool, all sounds and stimulus of the above world shut out.” Fingers worked to unbutton my pants and draw down my zipper. “And I can hear how deeply you feel about me tucked into every breath. Having someone so emphatically in love with you is exhilarating, like being at the center of your universe, and your gravity is pulling me in.”

He pushed me gently backwards onto the matress, and I pulled him after me. Our lips met, lightly pressing together. His tongue ran across my bottom lip, and my breath hitched. My hands roved under his shirt, dancing across his skin like a figure skater on the ice. He pulled at my waistband, and when I lifted up my hips, he slid off my pants in one fluid motion.

Lips followed the line of my jaw, down my throat, and to my collar bone. Gentle nips and sucks had me panting, greedily arching into his touch. “Let me tell you more about how you make me feel.” His voice was husky, deep, his blue eyes blown with lust. “Even though I was opposed to beginning a relationship, that didn’t stop me from fantasizing about you.”

“Really?” I gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He had moved to my stomach, licking and kissing, his fingers fluttering against my sides. “I know I told you, when you sent me those pictures of your cock, that I was jerking off to them. But even before that, those Instagram pictures… Fuck, that picture of you pulling down your pants, completely shaved, baring your cock for all the world to see… You have no idea how many times I got off to that picture.”

Ah, yes.  _ The  _ picture. The one he had tapped the “heart” icon on, before he knew other people could see him liking the pictures. I shivered, despite being so heated that I could probably roast marshmallows against my skin.

Grayson didn’t stop. His mouth moved over my boxer briefs, and I groaned, arching into him. “And that time we had phone sex… All it took was your moans to send me over the edge. I don’t think you realized it, either, but when you came, you whispered my name. And that was when I knew that if you ever pressed the issue, I wouldn’t be able to resist you.”

Underwear slid down my legs, and my cock was engulfed in a scorching cavern. Crying out, I was unable to resist thrusting into him. Hands held my hips down, and I whined, unable to form the words to beg.

Lazy licks came intermittently between his words. “You so easily broke down every one of my barriers that I set between us, yet I didn’t realize it until so recently. You’re addicting. And now that I’ve let myself fall into you, I crave everything about you. All day at work yesterday, I thought only of you, and how I yearned to touch you, hold you, kiss you. I’m sorry you ever thought Brayden’s disapproval would set us adrift, but now that I have you, I’m not letting you go.”

Midway through his speech, I realized I wasn’t able to fully take in the words, yet I could still feel the depth of his feelings wash over me like a tidal wave. Between his mouth and his words, I was thrown into such depths of pleasure that I struggled to differentiate between reality and sensation.

Thrashing against the sheets, I let out a series of increasingly longer moans. Grayson’s hands still held my hips against the mattress, but that didn’t stop me from trying to thrust against him. Out of words for the moment, his mouth greedily bobbed along my length, sucking hard, releasing me with a pop when he needed air.

My fingers threaded through his hair, and he groaned. “Shit,” he hissed before urgently sitting up to pull me into a deep kiss. The new angle had our erections meeting, and he gripped me, thrusting against me and into his hand. Sucking harshly on my shoulder, he continued to thrust forward, breathing shakily.

It wasn’t long before his mouth was back on my cock, bobbing vigorously, a hand caressing my balls. Without his hands holding my hops, I couldn't help but thrust upward, trying to be mindful of going too deep.

Releasing me for a moment, he said, “Go slow, and I can swallow all of you.”

His name tore through my lips as he threw himself back onto me. True to his word, my length slid further and further into his mouth until I had bottomed out, his nose pressed against my stomach. No sooner had I done so than he was pulling back. About to protest, he placed a quick kiss against my lips and said, “Hold on, let’s get in a better position for this. Stand up.”

Legs shaking, I struggled to support myself on my own two legs, wanting nothing more than to flop backwards into the mattress. Grayson slid to his knees before me, and I bit my lip hard, nearly shooting my load then and there.

“Go slow—I’ll guide you to the pace I can handle—but I want you fucking my face.”

And before I could completely process his words, I was back in his mouth, holding back the impulse to scream. Hands clutched my hips, regulating my thrusts, and I think without that guidance, I would have swooned, collapsing forward. My fingers threaded into his hair, pulling without thinking, and he groaned, impossibly pressing even farther into my pelvis. A hand drifted up and cradled my balls, weighing each of them in turn.

I made the mistake of looking down.

Grayson’s eyes were riveted on my face, watching me with an intensity I didn’t know was possible. Saliva flowed from the corner of his mouth, running towards his chin. My cock pushed in and out of his mouth, and I watched his cheeks hollow as he sucked harshly.

My hips moved faster of their own accord, my cock anxious to feel as much of that mind blowing friction as possible. Grayson's hands followed my rhythm and insistently urged me faster and harder. Still gripping his hair, I held his head still while I slammed myself in and out of his mouth.

A deep groan welled up from Grayson, and when I looked further down, he had spilled his load in his hand. His eyes slid shut, but I still felt like he was looking right through me.

One finger slipped inside me, fucking me to the same rhythm that I thrust into his mouth. It took mere seconds for him to find my pleasure spot, and this time I really did crumple forward, losing my balance as everything became too much. My hips finally stilled, pressed flush against his face, as I came.

Swallowing everything, Grayson pulled me down to him, kissing me deeply. I could taste myself on him, and I pressed my tongue firmly to his.

Panting heavily, I pushed to my feet and pulled Grayson after me, guiding us back to the bed where we collapsed haphazardly, legs tangling. “Given another couple minutes, and I would have lain down on the floor to fall asleep, and I distinctly remember you asking me not to let you do that.”

Grayson’s arm ran under my back, and he drew me to his side. “I’m hopefully not going to take a nap. I want to spend as much time as I can with you. We’ve wasted enough time as it is. But I have to be honest…I think that might be my last orgasm for a while. Four times in sixteen hours is pushing my limit.”

Huh. Four times? I couldn’t believe it myself, yet I felt like I could still go another dozen rounds. I mean, it definitely wasn’t biologically possible, but I wouldn’t mind trying.

“Then if you don’t want to nap, and we’re not going to fuck, then what is it you want to do?”

Grayson chuckled. “Tell me you want more out of this than napping and fucking.”

“I mean, those are definitely my top two priorities.”

He stroked my side slowly, and I realized suddenly that no one had ever shown me this kind of affection before. I had slept with a  _ lot  _ of people—and I suppose I had  _ technically _ had a boyfriend before—but I had never been in a relationship that prioritized feelings. Sure, having sex was one aspect of being with someone, but it was almost as if I could feel Grayson’s love for me through his soft carresses down my side.

Okay, so my first real relationship was with a thirty-six-year-old divorcee.

Maybe I should stay away from gross-overgeneralizations.

I nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck. “This is really nice,” I mumbled, “just being here with you.”

A light peck on top of my head. “Agreed. You know, I was just thinking… Most of my past relationships were absolute shit shows. I don’t think I’ve ever just lay beside someone and  _ enjoyed it _ , you know?”

I smiled. “I know exactly what you mean.”

We lay beside each other like that, just talking, for about an hour before deciding we should probably get out of bed. We were still mostly dressed, though my pants and underwear had somehow ended up near the bathroom.

“Want to go for a jog?” Grayson asked.

“Because we haven’t gotten enough exercise last night and this morning?” I glanced suspiciously into my duffle bag. “I didn’t pack thoughtfully. Have any shorts I can borrow?”

And that’s how we found out we wear nearly the same size clothes.

I borrowed socks, underwear, and a shirt in addition to the shorts, and I didn’t know if wearing Grayson’s clothes should feel silly or intimate. Luckily, I had worn my sneakers. His feet were about two sizes larger than mine.

And through that jog, things felt so  _ right _ . We so easily fell into our natural roles, idle conversation coupled with teasing and joking, that I couldn’t believe things had ever been different between us.

And later that afternoon, while we lay cuddling on the couch watching football, wrapped in each other and comfortable silence, I knew I could see myself spending the rest of my life with him.

And just like that, winter break was over, and I was faced with the horrid reality of returning to school. With Grayson's work schedule, we were only able spend that weekend and the following weekend together, but now the forced distance demanded our sporadic soirees be ground to a halt. Plus, I had classes to focus on. Graduation was fast approaching, and I had to be sure I was ready.

My first two weeks back were mild and slow, and Grayson drove out to the park we frequented on two separate occasions to go for a run. After those two weeks, however, I was so caught up in my schoolwork that I barely had time for even my meager social life. I had wildly underestimated a senior level sports economics course that would knock out two separate requirements for my major; the three credit hour course had more homework than all of my other classes combined. Not to mention the level of statistics used was almost too tough for me… I spent many of my nights watching math tutoring videos online, which only continued to add to my course load—

Days would pass, and I’d startle, realizing time was slipping rapidly away from me.

The night before Valentine’s Day, I awoke in a cold sweat. I barely knew it was February, much less the most romantic day of the year.

Was I reading too much into this? He did say he wasn't a “holiday person,” and he hadn’t mentioned Valentine’s Day  _ at all _ . Was it a trap? Was I supposed to just  _ know  _ what to get him? After all, this was the first Valentine’s I would spend while romantically involved with another person.

Also, we hadn’t exchanged Christmas gifts. Didn’t that mean we were  _ obligated  _ to buy Valentine's gifts? And what did he want, anyway? I wasn’t exactly rolling in cash, and this wasn’t something I could borrow money from my parents for. Plus, he had a job, and, ergo, money.

And it was getting a little embarrassing having him pay for everything. With our age difference, I didn’t want him to start viewing himself as a sugar daddy. I didn’t need to be showered in gifts to be happy. 

I rolled over and glanced at Marcus’s bed. It was empty. He had had a fairly steady girlfriend for about four months, so it would make sense that he was out making his girl happy.

I checked my phone. It was two in the morning. My finger hovered over the contacts button, and I chewed my lip nervously. This was  _ our  _ hour, but he had work in the morning and I had class. I really shouldn’t—

“u up?”

The text came through, and I started, nearly dropping my phone as it chimed in my hand. I smiled when I saw Grayson's name. I  _ knew  _ there was a reason I liked him.

I pressed the call button, listened to it ring a few times, and was rewarded with Grayson answering the phone with a low growl and half-choked breath.

“Yes, I’m up,” I said. “Why? Is something on your mind?”

A deep chuckle, the kind he gave where he was humoring me but definitely more interested in building and keeping pleasure than engaging in my off-color banter. “You’re always on my mind,” he replied. “I was just thinking that I forgot to get you something for Valentine’s Day.”

“Hey! That’s my line!”

Another chuckle, then an unexpectedly long, drawn-out moan. “Shit,” he hissed, and I smiled when I recognized that tell as well, that he had a sudden spike in pleasure. Next, he would grit his teeth while he fought his orgasm, before smiling lightly, tongue licking his top lip.

Fuck, I loved everything about him.

“I lied,” he said. “I know you didn’t get me anything for Valentine’s Day, and I didn’t want you to feel embarrassed, so I didn’t buy you anything, either. But I did get you a gift.”

“Mmm,” I hummed, already sliding my pajamas and underwear off. “Will I have to wait long for my gift?”

“Yes and no,” he replied coyly. “Part one will happen in, oh, the next fifteen minutes. Part two…maybe this weekend? Are you free?”

For whatever Grayson had planned, I was absolutely free. I could have been meeting the President of Canada but would have canceled in order to be with Grayson.

“My paper isn’t due until next weekend, so I can meet you Saturday.”

Another drawn out moan, and my cock twitched curiously in my hand. These were new noises. What was he doing?

“I’m putting you on video chat.”

It had taken me three patient hours to show him how to use video chat on his phone. I had watched, aghast, as he took fucking  _ notes  _ on  _ paper _ as I walked him through the steps. I was sure I wasn't imagining hearing the sound of paper crumpling in the background, and I knew he was referring to those notes now. 

When the video finally came through, my hand sped up its urgent strokes. Grayson was on his knees and held the camera above his head angled downward, providing me with the same view I had when he blew me. And damn, did Grayson love giving head. I mean  _ really  _ loved it. Half the time, he came before I did, just from stroking himself while sucking my cock.

“Where’s my present?” I teased.

“It’s behind me,” he responded.

Logically, I knew moving my phone around wouldn't provide me a better view, but I did it anyway, frustrated when Grayson's camera remained still. “What is it?” I huffed.

“Give me a second.” He balanced his phone on his nightstand before crawling into bed. At first, I waited patiently until I realized what an odd angle he presented to me, and then I saw it.

A red butt plug nestled between those beautiful cheeks.

Oh, no.

Never once in my life had I imagined myself doing anything with a partner other than being fucked. But the sight of Grayson bent over, offering his ass to me, and the thought of me mounting him from behind, had me throbbing intensely.

“Shit,” I hissed, recognizing my own tone mirroring how Grayson sounded out that word when the pleasure struck too hard, too fast.

The phone was back in Grayson's hand, and he was smiling. “I know we never talked about it, so if you have any reservations, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want—”

“I'm going to fuck you so hard you scream.”

His smile grew even further, the corners of his blue eyes wrinkling. “I’d like that so much. You have no idea how much I’d like that.”

“I’ve never…topped before.”

“Then I guess I'll be your first.”

I don’t know why that idea excited me as much as it did, but my fist had soon after pumped out an orgasm, hot seed spilling over my fingers.

“Show me,” Grayson demanded, eyes darkening with hunger. I angled my phone down towards my hand. Grayson’s pants grew closer together, and then he said something I never thought I’d ever hear someone say to me. “Talk to me.”

Usually people were telling me to shut up.  _ Especially _ during sex.

“What do you want me to say?” I asked him, genuinely not sure. I had about four knock knock jokes lined up, but they weren’t very good.

“Like, talk dirty. Tell me what you’d do if you were here.”

“Well, I just came, so…wash my hands?”

Grayson rolled his eyes. “Alex, I think you know by now that cum really gets me going. Don’t wipe it off just yet.”

Huh. I had definitely observed that, but I hadn't put two and two together.

“Oh. Well, then, I’d take my cum-covered hand and start jerking you off.” A strained grunt let me know I was on the right track. “You still have that plug in you. I’d tug on that, push on it until it hit your prostate.” Grayson shifted, propping his phone up so I could watch him use one hand to play with the toy and his other hand fist his cock. He was a lot more coordinated with this than I was. I could tell when he hit his prostate, his back arching neatly off the mattress.

“I can’t wait to get my cock into you. You’ll feel so good around me, look so beautiful under me, as I slide in and out of you.”

I had never talked anyone off this way before. Again, most people told me to shut up during sex, but Grayson was very clearly getting off on it. He was usually fairly quiet during sex, except for the harsh exhales and the occasional groan, but he was quite the moaner at the moment. When I paused, he said, “More. Tell me more.”

“I don’t know what else to say,” I admitted.

“Just…talk. You’re good at that. I just…want to hear you talk to me.”

My eyes drifted to my favorite parts of his body, so I chose to talk about that. “I love your arms. They’re so strong, and I love the way they feel when they’re wrapped around me. And your fucking sex lines. What are those called? That V that points right at your dick. Which is absolutely your best feature by the way. It’s absolutely glorious. And the way it feels in my hands…it’s beyond anything I’ve ever imagined.

“I still don’t know what else to say. Not a moment goes by when I don’t want to be by your side. You’re intoxicating. When I’m around you, my brain doesn’t function properly, and it’s hard to catch my breath. But it’s even worse when I’m without you. My heart aches, and it’s…painful. If I could spend every second with you, I would.”

I hadn’t noticed, but as I spoke, Grayson had stopped what he was doing and pulled the camera closer to his face, staring at me intently. When I paused for breath, he said, “Stay right there. I’m coming to you.”

And then he hung up.

I sat there dumbfounded, my mouth slightly agape. What the fuck did that mean?

Yawning, I looked at the clock. 2:36 a.m. Yikes. I needed to get some sleep if I wanted to function in the morning. Did Grayson really mean…?

I must have drifted off because I jolted awake when my phone rang. “I’m outside,” said Grayson. “I don’t think I feel comfortable entering your dorm. This plan made a lot more sense in my head.”

I had flown halfway down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator, before my brain caught up with my body. Heaving oxygen into my lungs, I bolted out the front door, raced across the parking lot, and threw Grayson’s truck door open.

“What are you  _ doing  _ here?” I demanded. Then I slapped my face. “Am I dreaming?” My face stung, so probably not.

Grayson slid out of the driver's seat and drew me into my arms. “In all my life, you’re the first person who’s ever cared so deeply for me. You’re addicting.”

I drew back, startled. “What do you mean? You’ve  _ never _ …?”

He shook his head, jaw suddenly tense. “I really don't like talking about my parents, but I didn’t exactly grow up in a warm, loving household. My parents never verbalized their feelings for me, and my sister and I still can't say ‘I love you’ to one another without it sounding off-putting. And I haven’t talked to you about my previous relationships before because…apart from my ex-wife—and you know we never had any feelings for one another—I’ve never been in a relationship that was based on feelings. My ex-wife and I got together in high school, and after we divorced, I didn’t feel comfortable dating for love until after Brayden graduated high school. After that, I never found anyone. So. Yeah. This whole…hearing how you feel about me is exhilarating.”

Bringing our lips together, I pressed forward against him until he was resting against the seat. Running my hands under his shirt, I stroked lightly against his back and sides. Finally breaking the kiss, I said, “I can’t believe you drove all the way over here just to tell me all that.”

He blushed and turned his head away shyly. “You’re right. I guess it was kind of silly.”

Pushing him further into the seat, I practically climbed into his lap. “I didn’t say that. Actions speak just as loud as words, and you taking the effort to drive here to see me…I’ll gladly regale you with my deep love for you any time if that means I get surprise visits.”

Something hard poked at my inner thigh, and I placed my hand against the large bulge straining at his pant leg. “I can’t believe you hung up without finishing. You must have incredible blue balls right now.”

“Well, in my head, I planned to go to your room and throw myself at you, but I forgot to take into account college dorm security. And I don’t know your room number.”

My hand continued to stroke him through his jeans, and my own cock began to respond. “Well, you’d better think of something fast. Otherwise I’m fucking you right here in the parking lot.”

Eyes darkening, he pulled me hungrily against him. His hand slid down the back of my boxer briefs, and I realized I hadn’t put on any other clothes before racing out here. I’m surprised I wasn’t completely naked, if I’m being honest.

“Get in,” Grayson demanded, and I hastily complied. He glanced at me as I buckled and chuckled. “Didn’t waste time getting dressed?”

Smirking, I leaned my seat back and slid the tight fabric down to my mid thigh. “I’d rather be undressed.”

Begrudgingly, he said, “Pull those up. I’m not going to risk getting pulled over by campus security. Just wait a couple minutes.”

He pulled into a seedy motel near campus, one with outward facing rooms. He went to the front desk to pay for a downstairs room near the back while I stayed in the car. He came out twirling a key around his finger and beckoned me. In a flash, I was out of the car and in the room. Disrobing, I threw myself backwards onto the bed, legs spread, erection pointing at the ceiling.

Grayson stalked into the room after me, closing the door behind him. He pulled his shirt over his head and kicked off his shoes and socks. Pausing at his pants, he flashed a grin my way. “I did promise you something for Valentine’s Day.”

He pulled down his pants in one swift motion. My cock throbbed when he turned around, showing he still had the plug inside him.

“Get the fuck over here,” I growled.

Smirking, he climbed on top of me, pausing to trace a wet line along my collar bone with his tongue. He pressed a small bottle into my hand. Without even looking, I popped it open, poured some lube into my hand, and worked it over my cock. That finished, I tossed the bottle onto the floor and pushed his shoulders until he rolled onto his back.

Moving down his body, I put my head directly between his thighs, staring at the red toy in front of me. Without the horrible video quality of our phones, I was able to recognize the shape of it, and I laughed. “You fucker, you got me a rose.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he purred.

Gently, I slid the plug out of him. I had never been on this end before, and I was equally excited and nervous. Curiously, I stuck my tongue out, pressing it against him. He gasped at the unexpected feeling, fingers twisting into the sheets.

“Like that?” I smirked.

He nodded, still trying to catch his breath.

My tongue made its way back, but I didn't know how long I’d be able to keep this up. This particular brand of lube tasted awful and really distracted me from what I was doing.

Forgoing my tongue, I worked a finger inside. Having only ever done this to myself, I marveled at how much easier it was to access his hole than it was to twist my arm around to reach my own. I watched my finger slide in and out, his hole already pre-stretched and lubed from the plug. Grayson bucked his hips down onto me, and I pressed in a second finger.

“Whenever you're ready, I’m ready,” Grayson purred.

My dick pulsed hard, and my body moved before my brain could catch up.

“Wait,” said Grayson. He sat up and moved so he was on all fours. Though not as intimate, I had to admit that it would be easier to line myself up with him in this position.

Placing tender kisses on his spine, my hand guided my cock to his ass until my head pressed against his entrance. I waited until I felt him relax before slowly pushing in.

Holy fuck.

No wonder guys tended to thrust right in without waiting for me to adjust.

The heat and pressure was mind numbingly overpowering. If I hadn’t already orgasmed once tonight, I would be all over in just a few strokes.

Grayson tensed, but I pushed my cockhead through the tight ring of muscle, knowing that once that was through, the worst of the discomfort would be over. I waited patiently for Grayson, kissing his shoulder blades and running my hands along his sides. All I wanted to do was shove the rest of the way in and thrust into him mercilessly.

I closed my eyes and listened to the small sounds Grayson was making. A deep inhale of discomfort, and I stopped pushing in. When his breathing evened, or I heard a quiet exhale of pleasure, I pushed minutely forward.

When my hips bottomed out, I opened my eyes, taking in the incredible sight before me. What had I done in past lives to deserve this perfect creature spread out before me? His back muscles rippled under his skin and his hands clenched the bedsheets as I began to pull back out.

“Okay?” I questioned, more out of breath than I realized.

“It’s fine,” he answered. “Just…keep it slow for a little longer.”

I placed my right hand over his, and our fingers curled together. Pressing my chest to his back, I felt like I was completely enveloping him. Reaching around with my left hand, I stroked his straining erection. With a gasp, he bucked into my hand, then pressed back onto me.

“Keep hitting that spot,” he moaned as he ground his hips back against me. His fingers curled tighter against mine, and he began thrusting faster.

“So good,” I groaned. I moved both of my hands to his hips, bracing myself to keep my balance. I let Grayson choose the rhythm, keeping pace with his thrusts as he rocked backward onto me. I was perfectly content watching him below me.

He took my wrist and placed my hand back on his cock. “Please,” he gasped. “I’m so close.”

He felt so good around me, and I felt myself getting close, too, that familiar build inside me, washing through me, threatening to explode. But something was missing. As intense as this was, I wasn't sure if I’d be able to get that final push over the edge.

Leaning over, I nipped at his shoulder, licking my way to where it met his neck, and bit gently. He whined and moved his head sideways so I’d have more room. Sucking more harshly, I was suddenly seized by the urge to mark him, claim him. A noise I'd never heard from him, and he was clenching around me, spilling himself onto my hands and the sheet. I rode him through it, then pulled out gently.

Turning around to face me, he took me in his hand, and somehow that was even better than the tight pressure his walls had provided. I pulled him to me to kiss me gently and let him stroke me until I was complete, hot spunk splashing our chests. Out of breath, I collapsed backwards onto the bed, pulling Grayson after me.

Little kisses were placed along my jaw and at the corner of my mouth. “Well?” he prompted. “How was it being inside me?”

“Incredible,” I panted, body shivering as it recalled that incredible pressure and heat surrounding me. Forever I'd have that perfect image of watching my shaft slide in and out of his ass.

“But?”

I grinned sheepishly and pressed my head under his chin. “I think I’d rather have you inside me. I felt empty.”

He wrapped his arms around me, and I pressed my head contentedly to his chest, listening to the deep trimming of his heart. “Trust me, there’s nothing I love more than feeling you around me and being connected in that way. Just let me know if you ever want to switch it up. I like both ways, but I get off harder when you’re making those gorgeous little noises when I’m pounding against your prostate.”

He touched his neck tenderly, and I glanced guiltily at the deep red mark. A grin split his face, and he said, “Also, do more of this. I love being sucked on, especially the collarbone and neck, but also the inner thigh.”

It was refreshing to hear someone verbalize all their likes and dislikes about sex. Normally, I was uncomfortable with discussing my dislikes and had even put up with a few idiosyncrasies from past flings rather than just saying “I don’t like this.”

“I don’t like being spanked.”

That pulled a smile from Grayson. “That’s good to know. I’m glad you told me.”

“Like, at all.”

“I’d rather kiss you, anyway.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Surprisingly, I wasn’t late to class the following morning, but I did have to do an embarrassing walk of shame from the parking lot to my dorm room in my underwear after Grayson dropped me off. Luckily, not many people were awake that early, but I did startle a freshman girl as she stepped out of the elevator.

That weekend, I made Grayson dinner and stayed over at his house. When I woke up the following morning, I took a moment to reflect on how I was slowly moving in. I had space in the bathroom for my toothbrush, deodorant, razor, and shampoo. I had spare clothes folded in his dresser, and even a spare pair of running shoes tucked in the closet. I’d be graduating in a little over a year. What would happen then? Would we move in together? Or would I end up choosing a career over him?

I froze. I hadn’t thought that far ahead before. Sure, I had imagined a lot of “what if” scenarios before we got together. When he first moved into his new house, I had even tried to convince him to move closer to Winston-Salem, and he had laughed at me, ticking off the reasons it wouldn’t make sense to move closer to the college, namely that once I graduated…then what? There would be no reason to stay there.

What was  _ my  _ plan, anyway? I had it in my head that I wanted to play soccer professionally, but a lot of that hinged on being scouted by a professional team. Sure, I had been gathering a lot of attention—and had even had my fifteen minutes of fame on ESPN last season—but that was still a far cry from getting picked up by an eastern conference team.

And what would I do if D.C. United picked me up? I couldn’t very well commute from North Carolina to Washington, D.C., every day.

Suddenly, my two dreams were at war with one another. Watching Grayson still asleep, his chest rising and falling gently beneath the covers, my heart wanted to choose this relationship over anything else—even if Cristiano Ronaldo himself offered me a spot on his team—but would I feel the same once soccer season started up? Would I feel the same as I ran up and down Wake Forest’s field, the crowd’s cheers thundering around me?

And what would happen if Grayson and I had a falling out, that our relationship just couldn’t stand up to the test of time? Would I throw away a job with a professional soccer team only to break up with him a year later? Or even worse—grow to resent him for choosing love over soccer?

For now, I rationalized, it wouldn’t do to get worked up worrying about the future. I had to get scouted first; otherwise, the point was moot. And, of course, I could get scouted by a USL club and play for North Carolina FC. That would be ideal. But, God forbid I ended up choosing a professional soccer team over Grayson, we still had plenty of time together before I had to face those consequences.

I had best make the most of the time I had.

* * *

The remainder of the semester flew by at an alarming rate. I almost missed my birthday, and probably would have if Grayson hadn’t offered to take me out to dinner. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to spend more time with him because finals were fast approaching and that sports economics class was still kicking my ass. I had found a study group online and spent more of my free time than I would have liked trying to teach myself the majority of the content. Interestingly, though, I found I  _ liked  _ the course; I just couldn’t piece together the professor’s expectations. We’d spend a class building models for a marketing campaign, yet the exam focused on sponsorships. It was confusing, but once I started trading notes in the study group, things started piecing together.

Spring Break came and went, and then finals were over and the whole summer was before me.

Only two semesters before I graduated.

The first two weeks of summer, I devoted almost entirely to Grayson. He still had to work, but I spent the majority of my days at his house, waiting for him to come home. Without a car, I had to rely on Grayson or my parents to drive me around. When Grayson asked if I’d rather spend the day at my parents’ and he’d pick me up after work, I shook my head. My mom and dad had to work, too, so it wouldn’t be any different.

Feeling domestic, I spent the mornings tidying his house—vacuuming, dishes, laundry…I even took the time the clean his bathrooms. Grayson lived a fairly spartan lifestyle, and cleaning was easy. When he arrived home that first night and saw the house, he frowned.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to work to earn your keep,” he told me.

But I didn't feel that way at all. I was cleaning mostly out of boredom, unable to sit still and do nothing for the majority of the day. It was either that or lounge around and watch TV it play on my phone. At least this way I felt like I was helping.

I made all the meals, too. I started experimenting with different recipes. Neither Grayson nor I were picky eaters, so I made a point of trying extreme flavors. There was a grocery store within biking distance of Grayson’s house, so once I was done cleaning, I rode to the store and bought ingredients for curry or tagine or ceviche. Back at the house, I prepared dinner, having it ready right as Grayson was due to walk in the door.

After spending two glorious weeks of playing 1950s housewife, it was time to drive back to Wake Forest for summer soccer practice.

My heart yearned for the time I couldn’t spend with Grayson. At night, I was frequently kept awake lamenting these lost minutes, ruminating over the minute possibility of having to go our separate ways once I graduated. I decided I would refuse to break up with him, instead choosing the long distance option until we could work out a solution together.

But, in the end, after all that stress and worry, the decision was taken out of my hands entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more chapters after this. T_T


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't stress how much everyone's comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions mean to me! :) You guys are perfect and wonderful. Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> I know less than nothing about soccer (and sports in general), so if I mess stuff up…please help me D:

Time slowed to a standstill, and I took in every detail around me. Sweat dripped from my face and soaked my shirt, and I could taste the saltiness against my lips, could feel the wetness of my shirt sticking to me. My chest heaved as my lungs desperately pulled oxygen into them, my calves and thighs burning from racing back and forth across the field.

This was an important game, which is why my mind was so hyper-focused. Two scouts from Atlanta United FC were here watching the game, and the rumor was that I was one of three players they were here to watch. Grayson and my parents were also at the game, and I swear I could hear their cheers above all the others in the crowd.

The green and white striped uniform had approached me from a blind spot faster than I had anticipated, but I thought I still had time to react. Twisting sideways, I maneuvered my half spin into a strong kick.

The field had been freshly manicured for the game, and the smell of grass and dirt filled my nostrils as it rose quickly toward me. Something was unbearably wrong, but I couldn't place it. The stands went eerily quiet. Why was the coach on the field?

And what was that screeching sound? Whenever I closed my eyes, it seemed to stop, but then I was jerked awake by…something. What was it?

How did my parents get on the field?

My body was lifted, and I realized that screech was coming from inside me. My throat ached from the screams, but I couldn't get it to stop. Were those EMTs?

Time caught up, and I remembered seeing the opposing player kicking out towards the ball. His face had twisted into shock at the last second when he registered my changed trajectory. If I hadn’t moved at the last second, his foot would have connected with empty air. However, I had pivoted, intending to pass the ball, and his foot had connected with—

My knee. It was my knee, if the searing pain in that general area was any indication.

I needed to tell the EMTs that I was fine, that I needed to be on the field. The scouts were here. They had to see me play. How could I get recruited onto a professional team if I wasn’t on the field? An injury at this point could put me out for the rest of the season.

And those scouts were here to see  _ me _ .

Imagine, playing for Atlanta United FC right out of college.

It was every dream come true.

But how could I get on the team if I couldn’t play?

* * *

Mom told me I had to be taken into surgery for my knee. She and the doctor patiently explained what had happened, but I blocked them out. All I heard was that I would be out for the remainder of the season. Recovery time would take a minimum of six months.

Not even out of college, and my soccer career was over.

* * *

I stayed at the hospital for several days. The doctors wrapped everything up in a hard cast to prevent further injury to the already torn ligaments.

Mom wanted me to stay at home for as long as I could obtain medical leave from the college, but I needed something to distract myself from my grief. Plus, trying to make up work from my classes would be more stressful than just going to class. And if I had to drop a class, it would delay my graduation.

Part of me wondered if I should do just that. Take a semester off, delay graduation, and play soccer next year.

No, that was a terrible plan. Delay the inevitable on the off chance a team would pick up a fifth year college student? Would the coaches even let me do that? Doubtful.

For now, I would have to work on resigning myself to the reality that this particular dream would never come true.

I cried a lot more than I cared to admit, especially once I was out of the hospital and back in my dorm room. Marcus had rented an apartment for his senior year, but I was still stuck in the dorms. Grayson had offered to pay for rent for an apartment, but I hastily declined. There was no way I would feel right accepting that kind of money from him, even if it meant we’d have a private space to ourselves when he visited me at Wake Forest.

My new roommate was a timid freshman who was absolutely out of his depth when I sporadically broke into wracking sobs, both from the pain in my knee and the sickening reality of having to readjust my entire outlook for the future. I tried to keep my cries as quiet as I could, or wait until he was out of the room, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

I had purposely lined up my schedule to have an easy semester for soccer season, which was fortunate. My three Tuesday and Thursday classes were all in the same building, which meant I didn’t have to lurch across campus on crutches.

During all this, Grayson was an absolute doll. He came to see me when he could and gave me space when I asked for it, which was more often than I’d like to admit. There was a lot of self pity going on.

A few days after the accident, he surprised me on campus, texting me saying he took a few hours off work and brought lunch. He helped me hobble to a shaded bench by my English class and unpacked Subway sandwiches.

Nothing I had ever eaten tasted as good as that turkey sandwich did.

That weekend, I was in an absolutely foul mood. I had failed a quiz in my Spanish class. Because of my medical absence, I had missed the memo that we were taking the quiz. When I tried to explain this to my professor, gesturing to the cast still on my leg, she ignored me, stating that if I was studying a little every night, it wouldn’t be a problem.

Bullshit.

The doctor also wanted to cut back on my pain medications. I told him that didn’t make any sense if I was still in an incredible amount of pain, but he said that was just the drugs talking.

_ Bullshit. _

I knew what really had me upset, though. These things I could normally take in stride, but I was worked up because—

This would be the first time I had ever missed a soccer game. My parents had season tickets and asked if I wanted to sit in the stands with them. I vehemently refused, even going so far as to hang up on my mother. I didn’t even call back to apologize.

Grayson offered to take me to a movie. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to sit in my room and sulk. He showed up anyway, practically dragging me into the theater. He ate popcorn and held my hand while I held back angry, bitter tears.

The coaches and some of the players took me out to dinner that night, after the game. I didn’t want to go, but I felt too guilty to stand up so many people. We got pizza, and I ordered a pitcher of beer, intending to drink the whole thing by myself, but I chickened out at the last minute, barely making it through one glass.

As the days continued to pass, heedless of my insistence that time instead reverse to before the accident so this never happened, I began to grow restless. Never one who was able to sit still for long periods of time, I found myself confined to my immediate area, unable to stand the crutches for long periods of time. Used to jogging at least 30 minutes a day, I began to feel sick, lazy, and even more irritable. I had a set of weights in my room, but it wasn’t the same as a run. I told my doctor I was concerned about muscle atrophy, and he replied that it was inevitable.

They took me out of the hard cast fairly quickly and gave me a knee immobilizer. I had to use crutches for awhile longer, but eventually those were gone, too. The doctors told me I was healing faster than originally expected but not to push myself too hard or too fast.

When they removed the hard cast, I got to see the surgical scar running across my knee. I still didn’t know the details of the extent of my injury, and I didn’t care to. Knowing exactly how badly everything inside was ruptured and torn wouldn’t put me back on the field.

“When you’re ready to talk about everything, I’ll be here waiting.”

Grayson had said that while I was still in the hospital, and I didn’t know what he meant. As my body continued to heal, I woke up one Saturday, about a month after the accident, suddenly feeling clear headed and more like myself. I called Grayson and asked if he’d drive me to his house. He seemed to hear there was a different note in my voice. When I met him in the parking lot, he embraced me and kissed my temple.

“Ready?” he asked, and there was depth to that question.

“Yes.”

We rode in silence. When we arrived at his house, we arranged ourselves on the couch, me laying atop him, our arms and legs tangled together. I thought I would cry some more, but I didn’t, like Grayson’s arms wrapped around me were holding all my broken pieces together.

I would never play soccer again.

I couldn’t bring myself to say the words aloud. It was still too painful. I thought back to when I was a young boy kicking a ball around the backyard with my dad. I thought about my first high school game, how we had lost, but how proud I was to have played in the game.

All that, gone.

Finally, I had gathered enough of myself together to speak to Grayson. “Soccer was my passion, and I don’t know what else will fill that void. It’s hard not knowing my future, and that terrifies me.”

“No one ever knows what will happen,” Grayson answered. “Bad things happen every day, things that veer you hard from the path you thought you were on. It’s dark for awhile, but eventually you realize you’ve been walking on your new path all along.”

I thought about how he had learned he wasn’t Brayden's father and how utterly lost he must have felt. I remember him telling me that he hoped nothing that awful would ever happen to me. But no one can truly stop awful things from happening.

You just have to hope that the people around you will be there to help you pick up the pieces.

I sighed and let my head drop back against his chest, letting my back muscles unwind. I was sore not only from my injury but also from the tension I was keeping inside me. It felt nice to finally feel like I could start letting some of that go.

“Mom told me to have a back up plan in case soccer didn’t pan out. Never once did I think I’d ever have to use my major.”

Grayson rubbed gentle circles along my back, and I relaxed even further.

“Those scouts were there to see  _ me _ . I felt…accomplished. Proud. I knew you and my parents were in the stands, and I thought, ‘This is it. I’m doing it.’ And now…” I let out a frustrated grunt. “I don’t think it would be so bad except that my knee still hurts so fucking much. If it was all over in one fell swoop, instead of every step being a fucking reminder…”

Grayson’s hand stilled. “Your knee still hurts? They don’t have you on pain meds?”

I shrugged. “They do. It’s just… I don’t know. It’s not as bad as when it first happened, but it’s still…bad.”

“I’m driving you to the hospital.”

I protested, but Grayson scooped me up in his arms. Damn, I knew he was strong, but—damn.

He called my mom as he drove me, and I smiled at the knowledge that he had my parents’ number in his phone. I don’t know why that thought made me so happy; it just did.

Smiling, I recognized the roads we were on. “Remember the last time you drove me to this hospital?”

“When you broke your hand? How could I forget?”

Laughing, I said, “I was so mad at you.”

He frowned. “What? What for? I don’t remember that.” He cracked a smile. “I do remember you saying, ‘I have to throw up now,’ then you leaned over and threw up.”

“I was mad because you kept calling me ‘kid.’ I was grounded for having my secret boyfriend over while my parents were out of town, and I thought I was all grown up and hot shit. I think I was trying to show off in front of you, show you that I wasn’t some innocent brat. But you never saw me how I saw myself. I was still just a kid to you.”

“Oh.” He was quiet for awhile, working something out in his head. “I don’t know how to put this…” He trailed off, and I waited very patiently for him to continue. “There were times, when you were seventeen and eighteen, especially when we were working out, where I caught myself staring at you inappropriately, and I had to give myself firm reminders that you were a child. That’s why I kept calling you ‘kid.’”

Oh? Oh, that was delicious news.

I decided to tease him a little. “If you were calling me ‘kid,’ I should have been calling you ‘daddy.’ Would you like that, Daddy?”

His eyes narrowed, and he glared at me. “No, I would  _ not  _ like that. Please don’t do that again.”

“Whatever you say…Daddy.”

“If I wasn’t worried you’d torn something else in your knee, I would pull over right now and push you out of this car.”

“So mean.” I let out a fake sniffle.

My parents met us at the emergency room, and I felt like a child as the three of them talked about my knee in hushed tones over my head like I wasn’t even there. I crossed my arms over my chest and pouted. Grayson ruffled my hair tenderly, and I hated to admit it, but it made me feel a little better.

Several hours, CT scans, and exams later, the doctor determined that a few bone fragments around my patella had not been removed properly during the initial surgery. My options were a second surgery or to bear with it and hope it healed properly on its own. Once more Grayson and my parents whispered about my knee over my head, discussing the options without including me in the conversation. I couldn’t muster up enough energy to be angry at them. Both options sucked, and I didn’t want to pick, wanting instead to crawl into Grayson’s marshmallow bed and sleep until everything magically fixed itself.

“At least we’re not looking at knee replacements,” said the doctor unhelpfully. I blanched at his words and quickly put my head between my knees, worried I was about to pass out. “Also, the ACL reconstruction looked good on the CT scan, so right now, we’re just looking at the patella.”

I’m glad I had tuned out the original doctor; I wouldn’t have been able to handle this horrible information. I was barely handling it now. It was amazing how one second of your life could have such a rippling impact.

“I don’t want another surgery,” I mumbled.

Mom looked at me hesitantly. “We really should weigh all of the pros and cons before you make a decision. If you don’t go through with the surgery and your leg doesn’t heal properly, you will have serious problems with your knee when you get older.”

I traced the scar on my knee and frowned. “And I could have the second surgery, and my knee still might not heal correctly. And even if I get cut open a second time, what does it matter? I won’t get drafted onto a soccer team, so what’s the point?”

“If you don’t get the surgery…” Grayson started slowly, glancing at my parents and making sure he wasn’t overstepping his bounds. “If you don’t get the surgery, there’s a good chance your knee may never heal properly. If your knee doesn’t heal, you won’t be able to run anymore. No more jogging with me. No more mini-marathons. And there’s nothing stopping you from joining a recreational soccer league.”

I ground my teeth together and bit back the sharp words I wanted to spit at him. He was right, of course, but still the idea of surgery scared me. And, of course, I’d have to miss more school. It was a lot to process.

“Let’s talk about it more at home,” suggested Dad. To the doctor, he asked, “When does he have to decide?” I appreciated that Dad said, “When does  _ he _ have to decide?” Before that moment, I was fairly certain my parents were going to make the decision for me and overrule whatever I chose.

“As soon as possible,” the doctor answered. “If it makes a difference, it will be a very minor surgery. Just a small incision. We’ll be in and out before you know it.”

Grayson squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. Mom went to put her hand on my knee, then drew it back quickly, realizing her close mistake. Dad stood nervously, chewing his bottom lip.

“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll do it.”

“You really don’t have you decide now,” said Dad.

I shrugged. “It’s fine. My knee hurts like a bitch. I don’t think I can sit around and hope it heals correctly. I’m barely making it as it is.”

Mom and Dad talked to the doctor and set up an appointment for Wednesday. I only had two classes, so I emailed my professors and asked if I could make up my work early. When everything was finished and signed and I was ready to be discharged, Grayson hovered hesitantly by my shoulder.

“What?” I demanded, a little sharper than I intended.

“Just checking in,” he answered.

I sighed and ran my hand over my face. “My parents will want me at home, but I’m not done with you. Will you come over?”

“Of course.”

I caught my parents’ attention and said, “We’re going to the grocery store and then heading over. I decided this morning that I’m done sulking. I mean, that was before— _ this _ .” I gestured widely at the hospital. “But I’m still done. I want to  _ do  _ something, so I’m making dinner.”

“Make some more of that tom yum soup,” Dad requested. “That shit was delicious.”

After finishing at the grocery store, Grayson and I drove to my parents’ house. I realized with a start that he hadn’t been over since we had first started dating. Though, to be fair, I was rarely at my parents’ house either.

He settled in just as easily as he had last time. After the initial awkwardness, both my parents had accepted Grayson completely. Mom was warmly understanding of him from the start, and once Dad was assured that nothing sexual occurred between us while I was a minor, he didn’t mind, either. They both really liked Grayson outside of our relationship, anyway, which made things transition a lot smoother.

While I began prepping ingredients, my parents and Grayson hovered in the kitchen, chatting. Dad made us old fashioneds, and I choked on mine. I greatly preferred beer or wine to hard liquor. Mom clearly wanted to talk more about the upcoming surgery, but Grayson and my dad steered her towards different topics of conversation, for which I was grateful.

Dinner was tom yum soup and goi cuon, a kind of Vietnamese spring roll. Mom made jasmine tea and steeped it with dried rose hips. Grayson rested his hand comfortably on my thigh while we ate. Bliss settled cloud-like around my shoulders.

After dinner, Mom pulled cannolis seemingly out of nowhere. If my leg were at full strength, I would have sprinted towards the tray, snatched it, and bolted to my old room to devour them by myself, like a deranged squirrel. I calculated it might be still possible, even with my disadvantage, but Dad could be pretty spry when cannolis were involved.

My parents retired to the living room to watch  _ Wheel of Fortune _ while Grayson stayed at the kitchen table with me. Smiling, he pulled me into a side hug. “So, you’re done sulking, huh?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I’m still horribly bitter about my soccer situation, but at least the college didn’t take my scholarship away.” I slumped into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, the kitchen chair creaking ominously beneath us. After a quick kiss to his cheek, I slid back into my own chair, worried his chair would break under our combined weight. That would be fucking embarrassing.

“Thanks so much for today. Staying at the hospital with me…driving me to the hospital in the first place. I don’t think I can properly convey how appreciative I am.”

A sloppy grin crossed his face. “I think I’m at the point where I’d do anything for you.” cupping my chin in his hand, he leaned close for a slow kiss. “You mean the world to me. And I have to commend you on how well you’re handling this. When I found out Monica was pregnant, I did not…handle that well. I engaged in a lot of self-destructive behaviors. I drank a lot, slept around, got involved in drugs… You’re in a horrible situation, but you have this coveted ability to just kind of…snap out of it. I really admire you.”

“I didn’t know all that about you.”

He paused, frowning. “There’s a lot you don't know about me; there’s a lot I keep hidden, a lot I don’t want to relive. Sometimes I wonder if you’d be as infatuated as you are if you knew the whole story.”

“I’d like to know the whole story.”

“I really don’t like to talk about my childhood. I like to think of my life in two pieces: before Brayden and after Brayden. Trust me, the life after Brayden is the part worth knowing.” He shook his head and attempted a smile. “But we were talking about you. Before we headed to the hospital, you were talking about how you’re not sure where to go next. You also mentioned having a backup plan. What’s the backup plan?”

I took a moment to grab two beers from the fridge. Popping off the tops, I drank deeply from one and brought the other to Grayson. “Back up plan was originally sports management, but I think I might veer more toward the economics side of things. I just don’t know how to get started in that career field.”

“Do you have a professor you could intern under?”

“Probably not this late in the game.” I scooted my chair away from the table and propped my leg up on my mom’s vacant chair. “I have a lot of anxiety built up as it is. It’s kind of like the end of a chapter in my life. And now—this is just one more thing added on.”

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I changed my career three times before getting hired on in my current company. I almost didn’t even go to college; I got a job as a car mechanic right out of high school. Then when Monica and I started talking about buying a house together, I went to get a degree in mechanical engineering. It took me six years before I was hired at a company in my desired field.

“Sometimes these kinds of things take time. And sometimes your life turns in a very unexpected direction. It would be nice to be sure of everything all the time, but that’s not reality.”

I chewed my bottom lip, thinking. Did I even want to pursue a career in sports? Soccer was all I knew, but I also loved the economics side of things. If sports economics didn’t work out, I might be able to find something in a broader field. Mathematics or statistics, even.

“You’re right. This will be a stressful time for your. That’s the nature of the beast. Just try not to get overworked thinking about things that might not even happen. Take it one day at a time, and we’ll cross the bridges as we get to them.”

* * *

I took Grayson’s advice to heart. Immediately I began hounding my professors for internship opportunities and career advice. My professor from my sports economics class that I struggled through ended up being the most helpful. He had been impressed with my work ethic and the quality of assignments I had turned in, which just goes to show you should always try your hardest even when you think no one is watching.

Anyway, Professor Monroe put me in contact with a manager at NBC Sports Group, and I landed a very short-term opportunity over Christmas break. Most of it was just getting facetime with anyone in the industry, which was easier than I had thought it would be. Unbeknownst to me, many an eye had been on me since my sophomore year. Strangers I had never met stopped me in the hall to give me their condolences about my leg, saying they had seen me play on ESPN and had been rooting for me. I found I didn’t appreciate their pity and had to hide the bitterness threatening to creep onto my face.

But it got my foot in the door. I had a job offer before my time was up. Unfortunately, it was for an unpaid internship at NBC Sports Group in Connecticut. I couldn’t imagine packing myself up and moving away from everything I knew just to run coffees for suits.

My leg gradually continued to heal as I spent my last semester at Wake Forest. Realizing this current chapter of my life was swiftly coming to an end left me more raw and emotional than anything had before. I found myself on the phone with my mother nearly every weekend, trying to piece together which direction my life might take. I had left only four classes for myself for the last semester, which left me with entirely too much time on my hands. Grayson, on the other hand, suddenly had an incredibly busy schedule with work. His boss’s boss was retiring in June, which meant there were opportunities for promotions. His company also renewed talks of restructuring and a potential buyout or merge with a smaller company. He warned me that he could be forced to move but that we would discuss it further if it ever became a reality.

I didn’t sleep well those last few months of my senior year. My knee continued to plague me daily. Grayson was convinced the doctors at the first hospital had screwed it up and insisted on bringing me to the hospital closer to my parents’ house. My physical therapy was not going well, and the idea of losing mobility in my leg was enough to plague my dreams with restless fears and anxieties manifested as nightmares. For the first time in my life, I had night terrors and frequently sat straight up in bed, screaming. My poor roommate requested a new dorm room on three separate occasions but was denied due to space. I begged my doctors for a prescription sleeping pill, but they didn’t want me taking anything stronger than over-the-counter drugs without me seeing a psychiatrist.

My dad ended up being the one to help me with the night terrors. With his new promotion, he was able to work from home on certain days. He adjusted his schedule so he worked longer hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays and took a longer lunch break on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. During his lunch breaks, he drove out to campus to visit with me. Mostly we walked around campus, steadily building muscle back into my leg. Having gone several months without my regular exercise routine, I was surprised at how exhausted I was after our walks together. The extra exertions were enough to help me sleep more peacefully on those evenings.

And then, faster than I could have ever anticipated, I was dressed in my cap and gown and walking on stage to accept my diploma—a Bachelor’s degree in economics with a minor in statistics. Grayson and my parents sat in the audience watching me walk, and that feeling of pride was more powerful than anything I had ever felt at my soccer games.

As I crossed the stage, still limping but freshly out of my knee brace, I felt something pull within me. Know that scene in  _ The Lion King _ where Simba walks across that magic log and changes from a kid to an adult in the span of five seconds? Walking across that stage helped me understand that scene on a different level. This was it. I could almost feel the words “end of volume one” written across my pages and a new book opening before me.

Bachelor’s degree freshly in hand, I began applying for any and every available job within a 40 mile radius. I officially moved out of the dorms and was faced with the realization that I had no money for rent nor did I have a car of my own that I could take to work. And having spent my college years playing soccer and therefore not having time for a job, I found my resume uncomfortably blank.

About a week after moving out of the dorms, I had no bites for any of my applications. A pit of frigid anxiety settled in my stomach, and I was seized by the irrational fear that I would never get a job, that I’d be forced to live with my parents forever. Grayson outright asked why I didn’t just move in with him until I found a job, but I held back. I didn’t feel right living with him when I was unable to provide for myself financially. Even though we had been dating for a year and a half, I still felt uncomfortable when he bought me things.

Out of the blue, nearly two weeks after graduation, Professor Monroe emailed me with an incredible job opportunity. There was a paid internship opportunity available for a sports economist that would work closely with D.C. United as well as other soccer teams along the east coast. Unfortunately, I would have to move to Washington, D.C.

I applied just for shits and giggles and received a call back within an hour.

They wanted me. Badly.

Fuck.

That night, Grayson called and said he needed to talk. I grumbled, “Yes, we do.” He came to pick me up, and the ride to his house was driven in uncomfortable silence. I was so preoccupied with my own news that I barely had time to panic about what kind of “talk” he needed to have with me. Regret pulled at me. The company said I needed to respond to the offer as soon as possible, and stupid me being the idiot that I am said yes. Without talking to Grayson.

_ Fuck. _

Technically, I could call back and say sorry, I’d have to pass on their offer, but after two weeks of no responses to any of my applications, this seemed like a dream come true. And it  _ was _ . I’d still be able to work in the professional sports game, even with my busted up knee. The physical therapist did not seem optimistic that I’d be back to my previous exercise routines any time soon and told me not to hold my breath of playing soccer at the level I was at for at least another year.

Combining economics and the sports industry was everything I could wish for in my current condition, and it would put my foot in the door for any future opportunities.

But moving to Washington, D.C… 

I had fought harder for Grayson than anything else in my life. To lose him to a career opportunity was just unthinkable.

Except that I had already accepted the job.

_ Fuck. _

I let Grayson order us take-out, which I rarely did, preferring to cook for the both of us. Cooking had become more than a once-in-a-while thing and was a way for me to relax. Sharing a meal together became a sort of ritual that we engaged in, and I looked forward to those moments we spent together.

The pizza arrived faster than either of us expected, though once the box was opened, we found that neither of us were hungry. My brain had still barely registered that he was the one who had invited me over “to talk” and not the other way around. What news could be worse than enduring a long distance relationship? Or would the distance be what drove us apart, breaking us up?

I pushed the half-eaten slice away from me and struggled to let my eyes meet Grayson’s face. Lines that hadn’t been there last summer were tugging his mouth into a frown. He looked absolutely miserable.

“I got a promotion,” he told me.

That was great news! Wasn’t it? Then why did he look like he was delivering funeral rites?

“What’s the catch?” I prompted.

He cradled his face in his hands, unable to look at me. “In order for me to accept the promotion, I’ll need to move.” He visibly struggled to lift his head and look me in the eye. “Even if I  _ don’t  _ take the promotion, my whole department is being relocated. Either I move, or I look for a new job.”

My stomach sank through the floor. Good thing I was seated because I felt like I was about to collapse. What did this mean? He had been with his company for almost ten years. There was no way he wasn’t going to accept this promotion. If I moved  _ and  _ he moved…how far apart would that put us? 

“What does the promotion entail?” I asked miserably. A huge knot formed in my throat, and I took a long drink of water. The knot remained, and I tried not to choke.

“It comes with a raise—almost ten thousand a year—as well as a company car. I’ll be in charge of a whole division of people, but I still get to work with my hands.” He sounded just as brokenhearted as I felt when he added, “It’s everything I’ve dreamed about, career-wise.”

“And where is it?” I grieved. “How far away will this take you?”

“Washington, D.C.”

Maybe there is a god. If so, what had I done to have one look so favorably upon me?

I fell to the floor, sobs wracking my body. My knee banged painfully against the linoleum, but I didn’t care. Through my tears, my words came rushing out, in no particular order, and I sounded like a babbling wreck. Grayson dropped beside me and put his arms around me. I pounced on him, pressing soggy, snotty kisses to his face.

Grayson put his hands firmly on my shoulders and held me at arm’s-length, unsure what to do with me. “I already checked, and it’s a little less than five hours from Greensboro to Washington, D.C. I know that’s far, but I’ll have more vacation time and I can—Alex, please stop crying so we can discuss this!”

But I couldn’t stop. I struggled against his grip until I could kiss him once more, my words still tumbling out. Taking a concerted effort to catch my breath, I cupped his face in my hands and pressed my forehead to his. “Grayson, I’m so sorry—I accepted a job without consulting you.” I hiccuped, hard, and my forehead bounced against his. “It’s with—I’ll be working with D.C. United. Grayson—we can—you don’t have to leave me—”

I was pushed back against the floor, Grayson kissing me as my words registered. His tongue pushed its way into my mouth, and his hand curled tightly in mine. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he gasped. “Tell me I’ve been agonizing all day over nothing.”

Grinning, I moved too fast trying to kiss him, and my chin hit his mouth. Ignoring the sharp sting, kiss attempt number two met its mark, my lips working fervently against his. My fingers clutched at his shirt like they were worried he would disappear forever. His fingers tangled in my hair, and his mouth worked hungrily against mine.

“I love you,” he rasped, and my heart pounded rapidly in my chest. He pulled back suddenly, planting both his hands on either side of my head, arms outstretched as he hovered over me. His dark hair hung around his face, and his eyes buzzed with excitement. “Alex. We’ll move to D.C. together. I want you to live with me. Will you move in with me?”

I nodded, unable to speak. All those months of worrying about—everything. My leg, my soccer career, graduating… If I ended up with nothing other than Grayson, I’d have made it out on top.

His lips sucked harshly at my neck, and a rush of air flooded from me in a throaty groan. My hands dipped to the waistband of his jeans, eager to feel the naked flesh there, knowing he wasn’t wearing underwear. Fingers fumbling on the button and zipper, I tugged eagerly at the denim fabric, pushing so I could get my hands around—

Grayson moaned deeply against my throat, and I shivered with delight. One hand gripped his shaft while the other reached further to cup his balls. He rocked his hips forward, thrusting into my hand, his lips still working their way across my throat. His leg was bent against the floor, supporting his weight on his knee, and I pressed myself against it, grinding my dick against his leg.

With frenzied speed, Grayson quickly divested me of my clothes. His clothing followed in a similar rush, before his head was tucked between my legs, his warm breath tickling the inside of my thigh. From that position, I propped one leg against his shoulder while my other leg shifted to the side, spreading me open and putting my all on display.

A warm, wet muscle lapped between my cheeks, and I huffed, clenching with surprise, then willing myself to relax with a groan. His tongue drew slow, lazy circles around me. The position I was in didn’t allow for me to thrust against him like I desperately wanted to. He pushed gently on the back of my thigh, spreading me further, before dipping his tongue inside me. After getting me thoroughly wet, a finger replaced his tongue, and his mouth found my balls, his tongue gliding across the skin.

After his initial rush, Grayson was now going frustratingly slow. His one finger was gingerly working in and out, barely going past the second knuckle. His lips continued applying wet pressure against my scrotum. Neither sensation was enough to do more than keep me hard, and I let out a frustrated groan.

His mouth was back at my hole, and he blew a slow stream of air against me. “What is it?” he asked teasingly. “Tell me what you want.”

I looked down, and when I caught his eyes, my body warmed intently. His tongue was thrusting in and out of me as he kept my gaze, blue orbs swirling intensely like a gathering thunderstorm. My dick twitched, precum leaking from the tip simply at the sight before me.

“I want all of you,” I growled.

He smiled and placed a gentle kiss atop my hole. “All of me, huh?” His finger went back to lazily working in and out of me. “What does that entail?”

“It entails more than one finger,” I spat impatiently.

“Does it now?” he crooned. The finger reached deeper and crooked. White stars flashed before my eyes, and I jerked my hips against the digit. “You don’t think I can make you cum with just one finger?”

Panting, I threw my head back against the linoleum. He was right. He could absolutely make me cum just on one finger, and I was beginning to wonder if he could make me cum just by looking at me like that.

A second finger joined the first, both nudging against my prostate, his mouth back on my balls.

I couldn’t bring myself to look back down at him, worried I’d completely lose myself in him. Eyes closed, I threaded my fingers through his hair, my hips squirming eagerly with every stimulation.

“I love you,” he said again, and my breath caught in my throat. “My passionate, devoted, beautiful Alex.” His lips wrapped around my cock, and it took everything I had not to orgasm then and there. He smirked around me, recognizing how close I was, and pulled me even further into his mouth.

“Not fair,” I gasped. “I said I wanted all of you.”

He pulled off me with a pop and a deep chuckle. Mischievously, he said, “And I asked what that entailed.”

I propped up on my elbows and glared at him. “Obviously that means I want you to fuck me.” He licked up my shaft, and I groaned, “You’re such a fucking tease.”

“You love it.”

He had me there.

A far off look came to his features, and he smiled at me. “Remember the night we got together? And we sucked each other off right here?”

“How could I forget?”

His eyes narrowed, and he said pointedly, “You promised not to let me fall asleep on the floor ever again. Remember that.”

I laughed. “I remember that, too.”

“I don’t have any lube.”

“I’m too far gone to care.”

A third finger inserted into me, and I breathed deeply through it. His fingers gently worked at me, willing me to open up enough that I could take him inside me. He sucked at my inner thigh, something I knew drove him absolutely mad with lust when done to him but had little to no effect on me.

Next thing I knew, he was lining himself up with my entrance. It was uncomfortable without lube, but he talked me through it, lips whispering nonstop next to my ear.

“That’s it, just relax. God, you’re so fucking tight, so fucking perfect. Let me know if it’s too much. That’s it, just breathe. I wish you could see your face right now. I’ll have to fuck you in front of a mirror, so you can see how beautiful you are.” He bottomed out, and I emitted sound halfway between a hiss and a moan. “That’s right. Let me know when I can start moving.”

It’s ironic that he’s normally so quiet, but when he’s fucking me, the words pour right out of him. And I’m the opposite; normally I can’t stop talking until I’ve got his cock in me.

I bucked my hips against him, and he started up at a medium pace. As often as we’d fucked, I still couldn’t believe how massive he was. I still couldn’t fit the whole thing in my mouth—and maybe I would never be able to—but at least he fit in my ass.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, bringing him deeper inside me. I sucked harshly at his collar bone, and he thrust more fervently into me. He angled his head so I’d have better access to his neck, so I obliged, alternating between lapping wetly and nipping gently.

“I can’t get enough of you,” I huffed.

He wrapped his arms around me, laying on my chest, his mouth against my neck. Deep waves of heat flushed through me as I listened to him try to catch his breath against my ear. He reached between us and stroked me. Between his hand, the heat and friction of his cock, and the pressure on my prostate, it wasn’t long before I spilled between us.

Eyes blown, the color of the midnight sky, he pulled out gently. Stroking himself, he leaned down and licked my stomach and cock clean. Leaning forward again, he hovered over me, supporting himself on one arm, his muscles tensed and bunched.

“Tell me you’re moving with me.”

I couldn’t stop the grin from stretching widely across my face. “I’m moving with you.”

Every few strokes, I could feel his cock tap against my stomach. He bent down to kiss me, and I savored the taste of me on his tongue. “Say it again. We’re going to buy a house together. You’re going to live with me, and I get to have you whenever I want. Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and drew him back to me, kissing him languidly. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve daydreamed about this very moment—about  _ being  _ with you. Never in a million years did I think I’d ever get lucky enough for you to love me back. But here I am, with you, freshly  _ fucked  _ by you”—he snorted at that and nibbled at my earlobe—“listening to you voice everything I’m thinking about  _ you _ . I thought my world ended when my knee busted, but you were right. I was already on the path that brought me to you. You’re all I need.”

He came with a short gasp, the hot seed hitting my chest. Grayson collapsed beside me, chest heaving, wrapping me up in his arms. “Stay with me here. Please. I’ve missed you. I know you’ll want to spend time with your parents before moving, but…this is my selfish request.”

My face twisted, and I bit my lip. “I don’t feel comfortable…not being able to pay my way financially. Even after we move, I’ll only be paid minimum wage, and it’s only part-time. It will be just enough to cover my half of the rent, but not much else. I don’t—want to rely on you like that. Financially. It’s awkward.”

“What am I, then, if not someone you can rely on?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. My parents always provided everything I needed, and that really makes me stop and think about money. I don’t want to be a mooch.”

“Then let’s just say I'm paying you for sex, but instead of writing you a check, that money just goes directly to rent.” He laughed at the murderous glare I sent his way and easily caught my wrists as I swatted at him. “Just kidding! But, in all seriousness, Alex, you just graduated college. No one expects you to have your shit fully together. It’s not like you’ll be a minimum wage, part-time employee for the rest of your life. What were you going to do if you moved out there on your own? Live under a bridge? Please, just live with me. I’m the one being selfish here. I think about you every minute we’re not together. I don’t want to spend any more time apart than is necessary. Please.”

“I’ll think about it,” I relented. “Now, let’s get up before you fall asleep on the floor again.”

We helped each other up, and I started putting my clothes back on. Grayson pulled on his jeans but nothing else. “Do you want something besides pizza?” he asked, opening the refrigerator door.

I peered over his shoulder, surprised at the amount of groceries in there. I remembered the first time I peeped inside his fridge and how barren it was. “What’s the occasion?” I teased. I pulled out a green, leafy vegetable. “Holy shit, is this endive? You bought  _ endive _ ?”

He pulled me close to his chest so suddenly that I struggled to regain my balance. My ear pressed to his chest, his deep baritone rumbled deep within me. “I stocked my fridge because I thought you’d be living here after you graduated.”

Ouch. I felt a pang of guilt tug at my heartstrings. “You did that? For me?”

“For  _ us _ . I love when we get to have meals together.”

I wrestled free from his grasp and started pulling ingredients from the fridge. Bok choy, ginger, carrot, broccoli, chicken… “Put the leftover pizza in the fridge. And start a pot of rice, please.”

“You got it.”

We fell into companionable silence as I prepped the veggies and chopped the chicken. Grayson pulled down the wok from the top shelf and put it on the stove to start pre-heating. It was then that I noticed he had bought a rice cooker.

I don’t know why, but when I saw that rice cooker, my heart caught in my throat. My eye started to catch other little changes around the kitchen. In addition to the new rice cooker and wok and the fridge full of fresh produce, he had hand towels, a bottle of moisturizing hand soap, a new plush rug by the sink and a second under my feet where I was currently chopping veggies… In anticipation of me moving in, he had placed all these little conveniences around the kitchen in response to offhand comments I had made. His house had always been so spartan, barely having the necessities, and now he had a fucking paper towel holder because he had seen me struggle with the loose roll.

I threw my arms around him, pressing him up against the counter, kissing him deeply. If I hadn’t literally just cum, I would have made him fuck me all over again.

“You are so unbelievably thoughtful.”

“If I knew bok choy would get me kissed like that, I would have braved the weird greens section of the grocery store a lot sooner.”

I smiled and kissed him again. My lips slowed; my tongue rubbed against his. I felt my body heat up, my dick desperately trying to rise to the occasion. “I’ll live with you,” I murmured in his ear. “Drive me back to my parents’ after dinner, and I’ll pack my bags.”

He held me at arm’s length and looked me squarely in the eye. “This is about more than bok choy. What changed your mind so suddenly?”

I gestured widely at the kitchen. “You did all this for me, didn’t you?” I grinned broadly. “I remember the first time I met you, and we ate hot dogs off paper plates. Now, look at this. I know you didn’t have this wooden cutting board last time I was here. It’s just so fucking thoughtful.”

He kissed me tenderly on the forehead. “I told you, I really thought you were going to move in sooner. I wanted this place to feel like home.”

“Anywhere would feel like home, so long as you’re there.”

After dinner, we washed the dishes and headed to my parents’ house. It was both cathartic and a little heartbreaking to be packing up my things, but ever since my parents had converted my old bedroom into a guest bedroom, it never really felt like  _ mine  _ anymore, anyway. Most of my things were still in my bags from having moved out of my college dorm, so it took an underwhelmingly short time before I had everything loaded into Grayson’s truck.

It was then that I realized I hadn’t told my parents about the job offer and how I had already accepted it. Mom cried when she realized I was moving, and Dad pulled me into a deep hug. “You’re going to do great,” Dad whispered in my ear, “because my son is a great person.”

And then we were driving back and unpacking my things. It felt silly hanging my clothes in the closet when we’d be moving out soon enough, so I only unpacked about half my belongings. As I took stock of what I had already moved in to Grayson’s house, it hit me that I had slowly been moving in for the past year and a half. In addition to standard toiletries, I also had several full sets of clothes, exercise gear, and my dad’s old tablet stored in Grayson’s bedroom— _ our  _ bedroom. 

I had to sit down on the bed, my head spinning woozily. It was a lot to process all at once. Grayson watched me, waiting patiently, a smile on his face. Leaning against the wall, he just looked so fucking smug, like he knew all along what I hadn’t been able to comprehend.

I looked at my knee, then I looked back up at him.

“Let’s go for a run.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the LAST chapter! T_T It's also much shorter than all of the other chapters, and for that, I apologize.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter!! T_T This is monumental for me, though. I am notorious for never finishing anything. Let me know what you thought about the story in the comments below! I've enjoyed reading every comment, seeing every kudos, and every bookmark. I love you guys! :D

It was smaller than Grayson’s house in Greensboro, but it was ours, and that was all that mattered. We didn’t need a lot of space with just the two of us, anyway.

We drove out there in his truck hauling a trailer. Between his spartan living and my post-college belongings, the things we brought with us to Washington, D.C., were embarrassingly meager.

His bed came with us, though, and his wondrously soft mattress.

I was able to take the Metro to and from work, so I didn’t have to worry about needing a second car. Plus, not having a lot of driving experience, I was terrified of needing to drive in D.C. traffic. Have you seen the roundabouts? They look like a fucking psychopath designed them.

Speaking of work—it was fabulous. Everything I could have hoped for, barring being a professional athlete. It was the perfect blend of math and sports that I couldn’t have begun to imagine. Granted, it was only the first week, but my coworkers were all such inspiring people. Grayson was happy with his new job, too. I hadn’t realized how large of a team of people he’d be managing. When he said “promotion,” I hadn’t thought much of it, but it really was quite a big leap from his original position.

I still wasn’t anywhere near my previous athletic ability, but Grayson walked with me almost every evening to start strengthening my leg muscles. Even though I had declared I was “done sulking” midway through my final semester, I had really gotten stuck on a mental block about my leg. It wasn’t until moving in with Grayson that I was able to finally get over that block and really push my physical therapy.

Our first night in our new place, we were so exhausted from moving that we just showered and went straight to bed. The following day, we set out to explore the city and spent a wonderful day walking up and down the National Mall. My leg still wasn’t ready for a full day of sightseeing, so we spent a lot of time checking out the food trucks and the benches. Even so, I was still exhausted when we returned home. Grayson filled up the tub with warm water and lowered me in to it, my knee screaming with pain. It helped a little but not enough to get a full night’s sleep.

The following morning, Grayson had to go to work, but I wasn’t scheduled to start until the next day. I had to stretch my leg slowly before I could get out of bed, but once I was up and moving, the muscles limbered and I was okay. I spent most of the morning putting things away before needing to rest my leg again around noon. After lunch, I made a list of items we could use from the store.

It was strange and wonderful all at once. Being in a new city, getting a new job, moving away from everything I had known for twenty-two years…it was gloriously exciting and yet I was petrified.

I waited anxiously for Grayson to come home from work. Unable to sit still, I started dinner way too early and had it ready almost an hour before he walked through the front door. It was chicken, and it dried out almost to the point of inedibility while it was left warming in the oven.

But Grayson smiled while we sat together at the table, chattering amicably as he asked about my day and told me about his new job. He poured us both a glass of wine, which we took to the living room to watch TV. He held me in his arms and kissed the top of my head.

Flushed by wine and warmed by his strong arms wrapped around my shoulders, I nuzzled backwards against him, maneuvering my face so I could kiss his neck. He was still wearing his suit, and I had been half-hard since he walked through the front door. I worked to loosen his tie, and he grinned predatorily at me. My lips and tongue worked mercilessly at his neck as I finally managed to pull his tie free from its knot.

My fingers worked carefully at each button as he ran a heavy palm up and down my back. I watched him begin to tent his slacks, and he had to shift several times to adjust himself. Sucking tender flesh, Grayson moaned beneath me, and I smiled. It wasn’t often I drew such noises from him, but he really had a thing about his neck and collarbone being sucked. His shirt was about halfway unbuttoned now, and I pushed the fabric to the side to work at the collarbone, sucking a vibrant bruise.

His hand slipped into the back of my sweatpants, and a finger circled my hole tenderly. I pushed back against it, but he didn’t let me chase that pleasure just yet, keeping his finger a tantalizing distance away. “You tease me; I tease you,” he growled in my ear.

Something deep within me reared its head, and I smirked. “I have an idea.” I had to hunt for a few moments before I found his tie over by the coffee table where I had thrown it. Folding my arms behind my back, I said, “I have a few demands.”

“Oh? Because usually you’re so submissive and compliant.”

I bit his bottom lip and grinned at his “ouch!” “Look here, one of my demands can be fucking gagging you, got that?”

He laughed and pulled me into his lap, kissing me sweetly. I shook out of his grip and stepped backwards. My brain was rapidly heading to the point of throwing my half-cocked idea right out the window and saying fuck it, fuck me.

“Wait, wait…” Falling to my knees in the middle of the living room floor, I once more placed my hands behind my back. “First, your suit stays on.”

Grayson’s eyes widened as he began to realize there had been a subtle shift in my tone. He ran his hand through his hair, mussing his dark strands. He stood and walked closer to me. The top four buttons of his shirt were still undone, but I found I liked it that way. Stopping about a foot in front of me, he agreed, “Suit stays on.”

A quick nod from me, and I continued. “Second, tie my hands together with your tie.”

His eyes glazed over, and his lips parted slightly. Obediently, he stepped behind me, taking his tie from my loose grip, before winding the silk fabric around my wrists. The knot he made was delicate, and I knew I could unravel the whole thing with one strong tug. Never having been tied before, I found I was grateful for his purposefully sloppy job, just in case I found I didn’t like it in the way I thought I would.

“Third…come stand in front of me.”

Grayson stalked around my periphery, ogling the sight I made, before standing directly in front of me. Gently, he pressed his cloth-clad erection to my lips, and I tongued at it eagerly. Without me having to say a word, he drew his zipper down, nudging at his waistband, and took his cock in hand. Pressing the tip to my lips, I opened up eagerly, tasting him. For awhile, I simply let him hang heavy on my tongue before I started sucking greedily.

From this angle, I really had to strain my neck upward to take him all in. He was fucking gorgeous, eyes lidded and heavy, hands threaded through my hair, jaw tight with concentration as he watched his cock slide between my lips. I watched every minute muscle tremble as I made it good for him, sucking, licking, and bobbing mercilessly.

And the  _ suit.  _ Really didn’t know that was going to be a thing for me, but I was already leaking just at the sight of his dress shirt and dress pants. And my hands…I had caught us both off guard when I had asked to be tied up, never having mentioned anything like it before. The silk felt nice against my wrists, but I was already wishing I could reach out and run my hands along his body. It was loose enough that I could disengage with one quick pull—or, you know, I could just  _ ask  _ him to release me—but I also wanted to see how this would play out.

I pulled back farther than I meant to, and he slipped from my lips with a wet pop. Opening my mouth expectantly, tongue outstretched, I waited for him to press back in. When he didn’t, I looked up, and there was a hungry gleam in his eye.

“You got to try something; I want to try something.” He leaned down and kissed me deeply, our tongues sliding wildly together. When he finally let up, he was smiling gently, in complete opposition to his following words. “Tap my leg three times if you want to stop.”

“Can’t,” I said. “Tied up.”

He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Want me to untie you?”

“Oh, fuck no. I’ll just…kick the table.”

A tight nod, and his hands were back in my hair, massaging my scalp. “Mouth open…and just relax.”

I had a pretty good idea where this was going when he slowly pressed inside. I kept my jaw loose and started breathing through my nose. When he hit the back of my throat, I fought the urge to gag and willed myself to open up.

He pulled back, then pushed a little deeper, still going so slow, hitting the back of my throat again. “Fuck, Alex, that’s good.” With his fingers threaded in my hair, he clutches my head and pulls me closer. My breath caught as I tried not to gag, and he pulled out worriedly. “Remember, kick the table, if it gets to be too much.”

I make a noise deep in my throat to let him know I understood, but all I wanted was for him to thrust back into me.

And he obliged, pushing back in until I was sure he was further in me than he had ever been before. A small rivulet of saliva ran from the corner of my mouth and down my chin. Grayson’s thumb swiped at it. “Doing so good. You’re so good for me.”

My tongue swiped along the underside of his cock as he fucked my face, and he groaned.

And then it happened.

Suddenly my lips were pressed against his pelvis. For the first time since we started dating, I was finally able to fit all of him inside my mouth. My own cock jumped at the realization, weeping eagerly against my boxers. I tried to moan my delight but couldn’t force sounds out through my filled throat.

Fingers carded gently through my hair as Grayson rested against me, fully sheathed, listening to my breathing even out. “Here I go,” he warned before going back to thrusting in and out of my throat.

Tears dripped from the corner of my eyes, but it was so good, I never wanted it to stop. I could feel the tie slipping from around my wrists, so I kept them as still as possible. Suddenly, it was too much, and I tapped my foot anxiously against the coffee table.

At the first sound, Grayson pulled out gently. He dropped to his knees in front of me and wrapped me up in his arms, pulling me to his chest. “You did so good. Just breathe for me. That’s it.”

Once I got myself back under control, I apologized. “Sorry, I just needed a quick break. It’s…a lot.”

Tender kisses at the corner of my eye, and I giggled, feeling ticklish. “We don’t have to keep going with that, if it was too much. There are plenty of other ways we can make each other feel good.”

Pouting, I insisted, “No, please, I just needed a breath. Please.”

His breath caught in his throat, and he choked. “Don’t beg like that.” Pushing back to his feet, he once more lined himself up with my lips. “Ready?”

My response was to lean forward and swallow as much down as possible. It was a lot easier the second time around, though my throat felt tender. Breathing through my nose meant I got to inhale his scent each time he thrust closer. I closed my eyes, losing myself in him.

And then he was sliding out, and I gasped in protest, but he was shooting white stripes across my face. I tried to catch them on my tongue, like raindrops, but it was harder to do than I had pictured in my head.

Grayson collapsed against me, pulling me to the floor, encircling me in his arms, and kissing across my face and neck. “You’re perfect. I don’t tell you that enough.” His hands gently freed me from the tie, and he rubbed tenderly at my wrists, checking them just in case. He smirked and asked, “So was me wearing the suit everything you thought it’d be?”

I rolled my still hard erection into his hip. “What do you think?” I growled.

That fucker smiled and palmed me through my pants. “I think I have another idea. Take off your pants.”

Shimmying and pulling at the fabric, I undressed in record time. My cock bobbed eagerly, waiting for Grayson’s next direction. He was laying on his side and pulled me flush against him. My hardened cock slipped between the fabric covering his thighs—

Huh.

Well, this was sure as shit arousing, if nothing else.

I thrust my hips back and forth, rutting against the fabric. Without lube, it wasn’t as pleasant as it could have been, but I was already fairly close to orgasm just from deep throating him. There had been something so raw, so primal about having his dick down my throat and my hands tied behind my back that—

I was flipped onto my back, Grayson’s hot, wet mouth engulfing my cock without warning. My hips spasmed upwards, but he pushed them back down firmly. He did it so easily that I realized with a jolt how much muscle I had lost since the accident. I vowed to myself to join a gym as soon as possible.

Working up and down my shaft, Grayson’s cheeks hollowed beautifully, and I mewled and gasped, arching my back since my hips were pinned to the floor.

“Nngh,” I whimpered, past the point of being able to form words.

His thumbs traced lazy circles on my hip bones, and I tried once more (unsuccessfully) to buck my hips into his mouth.

“So close,” I gasped.

Grayson hummed pleasurably around my dick before picking up speed. Lips tightened intently, and suddenly I was coming, crying out as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over me.

Chest heaving, face red, Grayson sat back on his heels, grinning broadly. Holding out his hand, he helped me to my feet. “Shower time,” he said, still holding my hand. “Let’s get washed up.”

Halfway up the stairs, I mused, “I think I want to train for a 5k. Even if I can’t run the whole thing, I think it would be good for me to walk it. Both physically and mentally, I think. I’ve got this…block…when I think about running again.”

“I think it would be good for you to get back in that headspace. I miss our runs together. But, I also don’t want you to push yourself too hard or too fast. An ACL tear and a shattered patella aren’t things to take lightly.”

“Then we’ll go slow. Wait for me?”

“Always.”

* * *

Within a month, I was able to jog for a little over a kilometer without needing to stop for breath. Grayson and I had joined a gym near our house, and since he was adamant I not overuse my leg, forcing me to take frustratingly long breaks any time my knee became even a little sore, I started working a lot more on my upper body. Now that I was getting more physical exercise, my sleep schedule became less erratic, and most of my nightmares and daytime anxiety disappeared.

Work became easier, too. There was a lot of physical space that I needed to walk around, and that first week had me absolutely howling in agony. I let nothing show while I was on the job, but when I got home, I collapsed on the couch in a puddle of tears. Grayson arrived home from work about an hour after me, which gave me plenty of time to clean my face and hide my agony.

Yet he knew. After coming home, he handed me Aspirin tablets and a glass of water and held me until I was crying all over again.

The pain was excruciating unbearable, but I couldn’t afford to go back to the hospital again. There was no way I could take time off work, and my dad’s insurance had just bumped me from his plan after graduation.

So I had to grin and bear it.

My parents came to visit about a month after we moved in. My mother clicked her tongue disapprovingly and set about redecorating. I thought I had done a fairly nice job—especially with the kitchen—and made secret plans to throw away the throw pillows and incense sticks after she left. (They ended up staying. Grayson snuggled the throw pillows adoringly, and the incense smelled fucking amazing.)

They stayed for a week, and my dad and I patched up a rift that I hadn’t even recognized was growing between us. Being an only child, my mom absolutely devotes herself to me and throws herself headfirst into anything I’ve ever done. Dad seemed withdrawn and on edge, though just barely noticeable until something he saw in the house made him  _ relax _ and I realized he had been wound tight as a drum.

Another month went by before I realized it: Brayden had not texted or called since we moved in together. In fact, I hadn’t heard a peep from him since that original phone call where we told him we were dating. Not a word about his engagement, wedding plans, or anything. I didn’t know if I had just coincidentally missed any of these conversations (statistically unlikely) or if our relationship had—

If I was the reason for the fallout between Grayson and his son, I would never forgive myself.

And what about his parents? As I strolled down this dark, melancholy path, I realized he had only mentioned them once or twice and had  _ never  _ called them. And didn’t he mention he had a sister? 

The words came tumbling from my mouth as soon as I thought them, my body once again not responding to my brain’s well-intentioned advice.

“You have to call Brayden right now and patch things up with him.”

Damn, I was such a tool.

We were having rice pilaf, and Grayson choked as the words flew from my mouth. Panicking, I hit him hard in the back, then remembered something I had read that said you weren’t supposed to do that. Or did I make that up?

Once he caught his breath and had several sips of water, Grayson leaned forward and caught my lips between his own. “You are such a kind, honest person, but you can’t fix everything, and you can’t fix this.”

“What do you mean?” I pleaded, wild-eyed. I gripped his hands and squeezed. “Tell me what happened.”

How long had it been since he had last spoken with Brayden? And how had I not noticed before now? How unobservant did a person have to be to miss all these warning flags? Worst Boyfriend of the Year Award hands down goes to me. 

He leaned forward to give me another kiss, but I jerked back, the chair toppling over behind me. My heart was racing, and I realized I was crying. Something was horribly wrong. The expression he wore on his face was so pained, I couldn’t—

_ “TELL ME!” _

I was shouting and crying, and Grayson just sat there, the most infuriatingly calm expression on his face.

Grayson’s words were whispered, but I knew them before he even started. I think I had known for awhile but was too scared to acknowledge it.

“He made it very clear that I was to choose between him and you.”

_ No.  _ NO! I couldn’t accept that! I couldn’t be the reason—

He already didn’t have a relationship with his parents, sister, or ex-wife. All he had was his son, yet—

“Alex, listen to me. You see the world through rose-colored glasses, and I love that about you, but it’s not always the same reality the rest of us are in. Brayden and I drifted apart when he first learned I wasn’t his biological father. I know you didn’t want to recognize that, and I let you believe everything was fine. At the time, you and I weren’t romantically involved, so I didn’t have a reason to discuss it with you.

“I waited patiently for him to come back to me, but we just drifted further apart. His mother and I really tried our best not to fight around him, but our strained relationship really took its toll on him. He blamed me for a lot of things, and I let him, thinking that I deserved all of his anger because I was so angry at myself.

“You didn’t drive us apart, Alex. The pieces were already set in motion long before you arrived. He just needed an excuse to cut the final cord.”

I collapsed back into my chair, wrapping my arms tightly around myself. “It’s not  _ fair _ ,” I hissed. “I can’t accept that. I  _ won’t  _ accept that!”

“You are the only healthy relationship I’ve had in my entire life. I’ve made peace with a lot of things, and at this point, that’s all I can really do.”

I called my mom later that night and told her I loved her.

And that’s really all there is to this tale. There’s no deep, insightful message. I found love, and love found me back. In this vast universe, all we can hope for at the end of the day is that things will turn out alright.

Would I like to conclude this tale by saying everyone lived happily ever after and nothing ever went wrong? Of course I would. But we had our ups and downs. We fought like all couples do. Money always remained a hot topic, and it was hard for me to accept that just because Grayson paid for things, it didn’t mean I was leeching off his income. Relationships are all about give and take. We both brought things to the table, and we both supported one another when we needed it.

Brayden and his dad did make up. Ironically, Brayden’s wife was the one to patch things up. She refused to get married unless Grayson was there, and by sheer force of will, she got them on speaking terms. I will always love her for that.

Braden and I, on the other hand, never reconnected that spark of our old friendship. As I grew older, it became more obvious that our friendship had been born of convenience rather than that deep connection of trust. We managed to be civil with one another, and I suppose that’s all I could hope for.

As much as I want that perfect ending, Grayson never reconnected with his parents or his sister. He received a call early one bitterly cold January morning saying his mom had passed in her sleep, and that was it. He didn’t fly out for her funeral, and that was unbearably hard for me to accept. During the time he needed me most, I retreated to my parents’ house and spent the time wrapped in my own mother’s arms, counting each blessing she had ever given me.

We’re still together, Grayson and I, and I’ve done my best to abide by my promise not to let him fall asleep on the floor after a spontaneous fuck in the kitchen or living room, but I think I’ve been unsuccesful more often than not. Though, to be fair, I’ve joined him many of those times as well.

We still live in that house in Washington, D.C., and Grayson received another promotion. He’s incredibly happy with his job, and I couldn’t be prouder. My internship ended and led to many more opportunities. I slowly drifted in some strange directions, but now I’m working for a private company that analyzes stock rates and exchanges. I’m making a pretty penny, and Grayson and I have started talking about moving into a bigger place, though we also both like the intimate size of our current home.

Speaking of intimate…who would I be if I didn’t end this tale without one last sex scene?

It was our fourth anniversary, and we had spent the entire day undressed, arms wrapped around each other, tongues in obscene places. I was slicked all over, from spit, sweat, cum, and lube, and my smile stretched from ear to ear. I was draped over the arm of the couch, legs weak and wobbly from the exertion of that day’s activities. My face was pressed into the cushion, my eyes sagged closed, drool leaking from the corner of my mouth.

A sharp slap stung my bared ass cheek. “Ouch!” I yelped. “What was that for?”

“Just making sure you’re still awake.”

“Oh, ha, ha, very funny. What a riot, coming from Rip Van Winkle himself.”

A tongue pressed between my cheeks, promptly shutting me up. I keened, careful not to shift my aching cock too harshly against the armrest. My fists reached out to grip something, but there was nothing.

Another smack. “What the fuck?” I growled.

“That one was just for fun,” he smirked.

“Ass.”

Purring, he slipped his cock inside me. Gasping, I ground backwards against him, desperate to be filled. His hands ran across my back and sides as he stilled suddenly. Aggravated at the drop in friction, I thrust backward some more, but he withdrew.

“ _ Fuck me _ ,” I hissed impatiently.

“I’m trying,” he panted, “but I’m seriously about to come here.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I could see his eyes screwed shut, his hand clenching the base of his dick, trying to keep his orgasm from boiling over.

“My ass is that good, huh?”

He leaned back over me, draping himself across me, and whispered in my ear, “All of you is that good.”

“Where do you want to come?” I prompted.

Biting his lower lip, he considered the myriad possibilities. “On your back,” he finally decided.

Pressing back inside, he wrapped his arms around my chest and pulled me close to him. It wasn’t the most comfortable position with parts of the couch digging into my legs and arms, but it was nice to feel cocooned in his arms, his chest burningly warm against my back.

His thrusts started slowly, dragging himself achingly through me. Sparks of pleasure spiraled through my body, and I keened, mumbling half-phrases and praises. He dragged his face across my back, his beard scratching against my skin. I could hear him panting heavily. He really was teetering on the edge.

With a growl, he withdrew. Gripping himself, he aimed his cock towards my back and shot his load across it. Eyes glazed, he simply watched me for awhile, skin reddened with streaks of white dappling. Finally, he cleaned off my back with some tissue, and I rolled onto my back on the couch, my legs draped over the armrest. I was so tall, my head bumped the armrest on the other side.

“I want a new couch,” I mumbled. “This one’s not comfortable.”

“It also probably has like a pound and a half of cum stains on it,” Grayson conceded.

“What if we don’t put a couch in here. What if we buy a bed instead? And we can put a bed in the kitchen, too.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m also still hard as a rock. What are your plans for that?”

“Well, honestly, sucking you off will be a lot cheaper than buying a new couch, so if you could only pick one—”

His mouth engulfed me, and I was crying out, fingers twining through his hair. He had started growing it longer, which meant there was more for me to tug and pull, which he seemed to like.

His nose pressed to my pelvis, and I struggled to catch my breath. I could feel the air from his nose tickling the shorn hair at the base of my cock. Twining my fingers in his hair, I slowly pulled back, then pushed forward, fucking his throat. He pressed two fingers into me, and I stilled, so overwhelmed with pleasure that I could do little more than lay there and pant.

It was all over before I could process it, my seed spilling into his throat. A half groan escaped my lips as I arched more fully into his mouth, chasing the end of my orgasm.

Grayson tried to snuggle next to me on the couch, but I was too sprawled and he couldn’t fit. “Move your ass,” he grumbled.

“Don't wanna.” I covered my face with my hands so he couldn’t see my smile.

“Fine.”

I spread my fingers so I could see what he was doing but was still surprised when he picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. Laughing and screaming, I couldn’t believe it as he carried me toward the stairs. “Stop!” I cried. “You’re going to hurt yourself! Just let me walk.”

He made it up two steps before setting me down. Both of us collapsed to the carpeted stairs, a fit of giggles. I playfully swatted his arm. “You’re a maniac!”

He leaned forward and pinned me to the stairs, arms on either side of my body, and crushed our lips together. Frantically, he thrust his tongue into my mouth like this was the last kiss on Earth. After several minutes, I was no longer able to keep up with his desperate pace and had to pull away. Running my hand lovingly up his chest, I smiled and took a moment to appreciate the beautiful man in front of me.

Another kiss, slower this time, then Grayson pulled back and said, “You’re the absolute best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Then it’s a  _ good  _ thing to obsessively stalk someone for four years? Noted.”

Sitting up, he pulled me into his arms and kissed my temple. “The  _ good  _ part is that you didn’t let me push you away.”

“I’m way too stubborn to have let that happen.”

“Happy anniversary.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again so much for reading. :) I worked really hard on this story, and it was really vindicating to read everyone's wonderful, supportive comments.
> 
> If you like my writing style, check out my other works. :) I currently have up three one-shots, but I'm working on a few other full-length M/M stories. As I mentioned in the notes above, I'm really bad about finishing things, so I've started this new thing where I finish the whole story before posting, instead of putting up four or five chapters (just enough to get people hooked) and then abandoning it forever. D:
> 
> Also, I got one of those Tumblr thingies that all those cool kids have. I'll be posting sneak peaks of other stories, behind the scenes for "Terrible," and other goodies as well. Check it out: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mystical-knight-dragon

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)


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